BY CATHERINE DOOK
“Son Rupert,” said John, “gave us the best giſt of all.” I fell silent. Tere was no disputing THAT point because Rupert had sent us $2,000.
“Yes,” I said finally, “our children and relations have sent us extremely useful giſts.” “We should buy some useful presents for them,” John said. “I’ve been mailing postcards to Paul,” I said. “He really likes postcards, but we should
think of something really good to send to your children – they’ve been so kind to us.” “Well, keep an eye out,” John said. It was still raining. I gobbled a bowlful of cereal and fresh Umpqua milk (delicious!)
but John decided to skip breakfast and hold out for something from a restaurant further south along Highway 101. But there was nothing further down the road, and John was starving by the time we
crossed the Alsea Bay Bridge. “Look for a restaurant,” he moaned. “I’m dying for breakfast.” Ten in Waldport, I saw it. “Bakery!” I yelled. “Pull right!” John swung the wheel right and pulled into the parking lot of a small strip mall.
The GIFTS
John and I awakened at the Seal Rocks RV Cove in Oregon in the rain. It was warm and dry inside our 1979 Execuvan, but it was raining too hard to toast bread over a campstove, so John and I lay in bed and talked. “Te most useful giſt daughter Lisa has
ever given me,” he said, “was that hand- sized, flat mop on a wand I use to wipe the condensation off the inside of the Execuvan windshield every morning.” “I really like the DVD set Te History
of Scotland daughter Jackie sent us just before we leſt Cowichan Bay,” I said. “Who’d have thought the Scots had a history? I thought my ancestors just painted themselves blue and wandered through the Highlands herding sheep and practicing the bagpipe and swilling whiskey.” I was impressed. We’d watched an episode nearly every night before falling asleep. “And that thermos your Australian
Dook cousins Norma and Rob gave us 15 years ago – we pour our leſtover coffee into it every day so we can have warm coffee every morning or every lunch depending on when it stops raining long enough for us to perk coffee.” “I see you’ve been wearing that fleecy
top daughter Lisa gave you a couple of Christmases ago,” John said. “It’s so cosy,” I replied. “Cosy and
comfortable.” “Maggie’s husband Chris carved me an
ivory pen,” I continued. “I use it every day to write in my journal, and son Paul sent us pictures.”
22 RVT 148 • JULY/AUGUST 2012
“Where’s the food?” he asked, looking around expectantly. “Right here,” I said, pointing. “Te Sea-Dog Bakery.” We pushed open a screened door and then a solid one, and found ourselves in a
small room with tables, a few chairs and a small glass-fronted counter along most of one wall. ‘Tillamook ice cream,’ the sign said, ‘Cooked breakfasts,’ while scents of scones and squares and cookies filled the air. A tall young man with a long ponytail took our order. “What would you like, Dear?” he asked me. John wanted a cooked breakfast, but I, overcome by the display of unparalleled bakery beauty in front of me, pointed mutely to the scones.
Seadog Bakery in Waldport, Oregon “Two cranberry-almond, two poppyseed lemon, and two apricot-ginger,” I said at
last. “And a coffee-almond ice cream cone.” “Americans,” I told John as he ate his way through two eggs, toast, sausage and hash
browns, ”can do wonderful things with white flour. Canadians are stuck on whole wheat but this cranberry-almond scone. . .” My voice trailed away as I took another bite. I had a scone in one hand and a waffle
cone in the other. I was completely happy. Across the room a small group of men and women drank coffee and ate breakfast
and held a spirited discussion on a wide range of topics: friends they didn’t like, how to recognize the all-clear siren once the danger of flooding had passed, and, interestingly, the best way to incapacitate an enemy army. “Don’t kill a soldier,” roared one man, “Wound him! It takes seven people to look aſter a wounded soldier. Uses up all your enemy’s resources.” “Everything all right, Hon?” the waiter asked me.
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