The essence of cake
Today is MF's birthday, once that fully esconces him into early-to-late early 30's. I presented him with a slightly non-traditional cake this morning...a tray of Costco Cream Cheese Frosted Sticky Buns. He was pleased.
I didn't receive a cake on my birthday. Not on purpose. It was merely an oversight. But the fundamental importance of cake (to me) dawned on me that day. To me, cake has always been the marking of my years, my passage. It's not real until the candles are blown out and wishes are made, bringing closure to the old and hopes for the new. A symbolic exercise if ever there was one.
Recently, while experiencing scrapbooking creative block, I sorted my photographs until I had found all of the pictures of us children blowing out the candles on our cake...cheeks ballooned, eyes wide with effort and excitement. While some years were skipped or missing, there was enough to cover a whole spread of my scrapbook with 1x1" pictures. That's a lot of cake.
While the cakes got less elaborate and fancy with age, deteriorating from sponge cake castles and chocolate button decorated dragons, to bowls of trifle and store bought standards, there was always something special about that cake, whatever shape it took.
The last picture of me with a cake was on my 18th. I was "dressed-up" in a black dress with my hair in an attempt at a sophisticated twist. My friends are around me in their best black tie and we are all laughing as I cut the Champagne Bottle shaped cake. A snap shot in time.
I look forward to taking my own pictures of my children on their birthdays. The typical shot of the 1-year old, covered head to toe in icing. The 10 year old beaming at his arrival into the double digits. The surprised look on that five year old face as they get that barbie cake I'd been denying them for SO long.
But who will take pictures of me? Who witnesses my aging? Who would spend hours to bake me a cake, and sit enthralled as I blow out those candles? We mark the time in years, but the importance lessens. Therefore, MF will be getting an even better cake next year, perhaps made from scratch this time. I just hope he sees that everything I do for him is a little bit of a silent encouragement to do the same for me. I hope.
I didn't receive a cake on my birthday. Not on purpose. It was merely an oversight. But the fundamental importance of cake (to me) dawned on me that day. To me, cake has always been the marking of my years, my passage. It's not real until the candles are blown out and wishes are made, bringing closure to the old and hopes for the new. A symbolic exercise if ever there was one.
Recently, while experiencing scrapbooking creative block, I sorted my photographs until I had found all of the pictures of us children blowing out the candles on our cake...cheeks ballooned, eyes wide with effort and excitement. While some years were skipped or missing, there was enough to cover a whole spread of my scrapbook with 1x1" pictures. That's a lot of cake.
While the cakes got less elaborate and fancy with age, deteriorating from sponge cake castles and chocolate button decorated dragons, to bowls of trifle and store bought standards, there was always something special about that cake, whatever shape it took.
The last picture of me with a cake was on my 18th. I was "dressed-up" in a black dress with my hair in an attempt at a sophisticated twist. My friends are around me in their best black tie and we are all laughing as I cut the Champagne Bottle shaped cake. A snap shot in time.
I look forward to taking my own pictures of my children on their birthdays. The typical shot of the 1-year old, covered head to toe in icing. The 10 year old beaming at his arrival into the double digits. The surprised look on that five year old face as they get that barbie cake I'd been denying them for SO long.
But who will take pictures of me? Who witnesses my aging? Who would spend hours to bake me a cake, and sit enthralled as I blow out those candles? We mark the time in years, but the importance lessens. Therefore, MF will be getting an even better cake next year, perhaps made from scratch this time. I just hope he sees that everything I do for him is a little bit of a silent encouragement to do the same for me. I hope.
posted by Jennifer @ 1:27 p.m.
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