"Shit", she said, recalling the emotions of that night over jars of hot strawberry filled jars. "How the hell did this happen?" She recalled, thinking, " What did I miss? I was sure I covered all my bases. Damn." She was ready to leave right then and there, but something deep in her primordial mind told her "don't flee, Diane, FIGHT!" And fight, she did. She stuck to it, attended all 6 of those #^%,>@* classes, and came out more determined than ever to truffle the crap out of Dauffie if it was the last thing she did.
"Exactly how many categories are you entering this year?" I asked. Her back was turned, but I heard her answer, softly, "you don't want to know."
"I really do", I said, "come on, just tell me". I'm pretty sure she was almost embarrassed at how this determination had pretty much blinded her for an entire 9 months. About "58", I heard her whisper. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!! FIVE-EIGHT???" Yes, it was true.
"You have no idea. I'm totally out of control! Now, I'm starting to feeling the pressure. My corn is canned, but I'm not happy with it's color--I might have to do that again...I can't bake the cupcakes too early or they'll dry out--if I wait too long, they won't cool in order to time the frosting...plus, the boys' things still need to be touched-up and I have to set aside time to coach them on their presentations. I'm really feeling the crunch, now." I'd never seen her this way--she was actually breaking a sweat.
Now, I tried to put this in perspective. What the hell, after all? We all have our thing ; mine happens to be a 'gigantic, unpredictable explosions of rage caused by a combination of having too many children too close in age and a case of Bipolar Disorder tossed into the mix' weakness. With Diane, well let's just call hers the 'mess with my obsession and I'll do whatever it takes to blow your butt out of the water' secret personality trait. Do we ever really know someone?
In the days leading up to the final deadlines, Diane was unreachable by phone. I pictured her a frazzled mess, apron on, frantically searching the kitchen for some oil-smudged 'to-do' list which is buried under a bunch of cook books and scattered recipe's in a kitchen blocked-off with police tape. There's a cot in the corner with a few tousled sheets, used when she can catch a few winks while something's baking or cooling. I could do nothing for the poor thing; she was in over her head. The only relief would come after the deadlines had been met. Only then, would she be able to relax and breathe and sleep. Although, I suspected that she wouldn't really be able to relax until the results were in.
I saw her for the first time in three weeks when I accidentally ran into her at the fair. She had just turned-in the last of her entries. She looked like a prisoner of war, like she hadn't slept since I saw her last Her clothes hung off of her malnourished body. Had she even been feeding the children, I wondered? I pictured them scrounging around the garden, eating green beans off the vine, sitting in the dirt, chomping tomatoes, the juice dripping off their unbathed chins. Pathetic and sad.
The fair started and I called her a couple of times, late, on the evenings after judging had taken place. No answers. I think she was screening. She had to keep the line open for the important, judge's calls. Two days in, I ran into her in the Fine-Art's building. This was a good sign; she thought she'd walk through and view a little amateur drawing and painting to take her mind off of the judging that was occurring as we spoke: Candy.
"How you feeling?", I asked. "So far, so good", she said, "I'm feeling pretty good about my caramel truffle, especially. The ganache was the best I've ever made! It's in the hands of the experts now." Knowing how important this was to her, I bit my tongue, holding myself back from what comes natural to me in such situations--making some sarcastic remark about how we all know the integral role caramel truffles play in the food chain. "Dauffie's taken a few of the predictable categories," she continued, "but did you see, I got her in Quick Breads and Fruit Pies!?" I did know this, as I had been following the results closely in the paper. "Yeah, way to go!", I said, encouraging and supportive-like. "When will you know about tonight's judging?" "Not sure", she sighed, "the word is it could go pretty late. We usually wait around, but I don't think I can take it. I think we'll head home and wait for the call." I suggested a warm bath and a glass of wine. "No, I wanna keep my head clear for the call". We half-hugged--she's not much of a hugger on a good day, plus she was obviously SO distracted-- and I wished her luck.
As I drove my kids home that evening, I wondered what Diane would be like when the fair was over. Would she collapse? Would she go into withdrawals and continue moving at the pace of a mad-woman? Would we need to do an intervention? Would she go into a depression--that anti-climactic kind? Who knew, but clearly, she'd have to react somehow. After the time she'd devoted to this event, I was ready to help her through whatever emotions might come.
The call finally came. Dauffie had taken the blue ribbon in Candy.
Diane called me with the news. Remarkably, she didn't sound out-for-blood. She didn't really even sound very disappointed. "It was really close. They said Dauffie won by 1/2 a point. It took three counts before they could be sure. It was density. She got me on density."
"I'm so sorry", I said, trying to sound conciliatory, "she's been doing this for so many years...some day you'll be the one to beat." "I'm going to bed. I'll talk to you tomorrow", she said and we hung up. I felt sad and let down. Maybe her candy tasted like poop--I don't know--but I knew how hard she worked and I thought she deserved Grand Champion.
The next morning, I called to check-in. I didn't hear anything but exhaustion in her voice. "Yeah, I'm disappointed, but it's no big deal", she said. Then we went on to talk about school supplies being so ungodly expensive. Unbelievable.
I should have known she'd take this, like everything else, in stride. Life goes on, there's always something else to get done. Move on. She was my hero.
We rarely talked about the fair after that. The school year was under way and we moved-on. I'd tease her about the change in her personality--how it was a side I'd never dreamed she'd have. She'd take the ribbing in good humor.
The next spring came around, summer followed and the fair approached. At coffee, a few weeks before the fair was to start, it occurred to me that Diane hadn't been nearly as busy as she had the year before. She wasn't chatting, complaining, even mentioning the fair. "Hey, what's your strategy to beat Dauffie this year? More flour sifting, maybe?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," she said, clearly steering me off-topic.
A few days later, I ran into her sister-in-law. "What's Diane entering in the fair this year?", I asked. "Nothing", she replied.
"Sorry, did you say, 'nothing'?" (my mouth ajar)
"Right. Nothing. I think last year was a wake-up call--she's taking a break this year."
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Whenever I think of that summer I can't help laughing. Rarely have I seen such a drastic, unpredictable side emerge from someone I thought I knew. She insists she'll never get caught-up in that scene again. I'm not so sure. Once in a while, when she's decorating a cake, she seems to slip into a 'zone' and her face takes on just a teensy bit of the intense expression I remember from the 'Summer of the Truffle'. That's the face that crept into my mind this morning--the frenzied, "Help me!" face. Maybe I'll drive through Starbucks, grab a couple of strong coffees and head to the farm. Who knows, maybe there is something I can do to help?
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Epilogue~
After showing this post to Diane for permission to print it, I got this in response:
"Sure. Go ahead and print it. I like it! I don't know if anyone else will want to read it though.", (Typical Diane-esque modesty) " Did I tell you the news? Dauffie can't enter anything in the fair anymore! They gave her a 'Lifetime Achievement Award', then took away her right to submit anything from now on. She's just too good. I guess the last laugh's on Dauffie!"
I guess it is. Despite my opinion that stripping someone of the right to compete simply because they are too good seems pretty unfair to me, I can't help but think it might cause Diane to reconsider. Time will tell how Diane feels about Dauffie's forced retirement as spring turns to summer this year...never say never! Diane & Jack did, after all, remodel their kitchen last fall. Who could resist another go-round, in a new, state of the art kitchen? I mean, it would almost be a sin not to go for it, don't you think?
