At times, a pre-teen’s life in a small town can be dull with nothing to do. With no T.V., but and a radio that only gets evening reception, a kid has to find other ways to pass the time. This is Greenwood in the 50’s and our family lived in a building known as # 7 on Copper Street which was our main street. From our third floor windows or small balcony, I could pretty much view the entire centre of town, in both directions.
On such quiet days, I would look out to watch familiar cars and people go by, gaze towards Jubilee Mountain to spot any climbers or watch trucks making grocery store deliveries below. Vernon’s large NOCA Dairy van brought milk and cheese. Beverage trucks loaded with Penticton V’s labelled bottled drinks of green, orange, red, and dark brown sodas were a kaleidoscope of colours when seen from above. Other trucks delivered Sno-Boy brand fruits and vegetables, and the 4X Bakery van from Penticton, driven by George, that everyone knew, wheeled in trays of breads and pastries. The 4X glazed donuts were quite good but across the street was Mr. Tanizawa’s bakery and the scent of his baking would waft over to where we lived. His bakery display was always inviting and once you entered his store, you were instantly enveloped by great aromas. If it were possible, bakery aroma inhalation would be my choice to end life.
My dad knew Mr. Tanizawa from their days in Steveston, B.C. where both families lived before the internment. On some Sundays, my dad’s day off, he would visit Mr. Tanizawa, who often baked on Sundays to ready items for Monday. They gabbed and perhaps reminisced past times. My dad’s visit with Mr. Tanizawa was a good sign for me because what usually happened next was seeing my dad crossing the street back over to our side bringing a dozen fresh baked cream buns on a baking sheet, nice fluffy buns, browned on top, filled inside with a generous dollop of real whipped cream, and dusted on top with icing sugar, yippee! My happy reaction to his arrival with the sweet treats was approval of his delivery. I was in heaven as my mouth clamped down on a soft cream bun, the filling oozing out. After finishing my first one and thinking a growing boy needed a second bun, my mother sternly forbade me, claiming too much fresh nitcha nitcha (doughy) buns would give me a stomach ache. Sorry, but the story ends here, because I need to go find where my mother hid the rest of the buns!