I hopped into the driver’s seat, quickly and clumsily fastened my seatbelt, and reached my right hand into the warm bag of croissants, grabbing the first one that called to me.
Mindfully, I savoured that first bite, an explosion of oozing warm, smooth, semi-sweet cocoa, that filled every corner of my mouth.
I have frequented this local, family owned bakery for the past 40 years for the best freshly baked rye and chocolate croissants in Northeastern Ontario. It is a legendary place tucked away in an older part of the downtown core, on a busy throughway, where you need to navigate puddles in the rain and avoid getting splashed from fast-passing vehicles in the winter in order to enter.
A place where my wife and I visited as university students, later with our children and now with our grandchildren. Although simple and unassuming (no fancy Parisian names here, or outlandish prices), it is a place where culinary artists create gastronomic delights. A place where longstanding staff have worked for 40 years, who likely awaken in the wee hours of the morning and continue to work long into the evening after closing.
On Sunday mornings, I traditionally pick up my four-year-old grandson so that we can visit this bakery together to get into mischief. I always remind him that this reference is to good mischief, not bad mischief.
Of course we are referring to getting into cookies, croissants or a hunk of warm bread — that infrequently make it home.
We recently learned this bakery was purchased and will be closing its doors at the end of November. This makes me sad.
It is slated to be torn down for urban renewal, but I can’t help but ask myself is this really progress? One of the seven tenets of mindfulness is learning to let go. We know that when we let go we no longer suffer.
There are things that are in our control and things that we have no control over. Letting go represents acceptance that all things change and that there is an impermanent nature to everything. When we try to hang on, it serves no one.
This does not mean that we don’t grieve. I coincidentally noticed a post in our local newspaper yesterday that asked the question, “So just wondering … have you grieved?” To be human is to grieve.
We will miss all the sweet and bitter sweet offerings that this bakery has offered us throughout the years. The blueberry and strawberry rhubarb pies that we devoured at birthdays and family gatherings. The cinnamon buns that we gently tore apart and shared in the car. The hot cross buns at Easter. The chocolate delights that we dropped off to friends to cheer them up in troubled times.
But we must let go. My wise Tai Chi teacher reminds us to let go … let go … let go. Rumi reminds us that this may be clearing us out for a new delight. Namaste, my friends.
Gary Petingola lives in Greater Sudbury.
