There's more to a cake than meets the eye. LC
Outside the clouds pile up, the sun disappears, the wind goes blustery and occasionally there are outbursts of rain. It is beautiful. I am painting (as you can see), and while I am thinking about that painting, I made a cake from scratch. It is my version of Bonnie Butter Cake (1974 Betty Crocker), with brandy (I have no vanilla) and walnuts. The icing is (more)Butter Lemon. The cake is too warm for the frosting, so it is piling up, somewhat, at the edges. I may move it later, back to the middle. For now, I confess, I ate the corner and I am so glad that that is done, and I can go back to the studio. Next time I eat, I promise, it will be some healthy hot soup.
You know, there was a time, when Wayne was a tree trimmer, that I made some variation of this cake every day. It came out of the oven just before the school bus stopped at the side of the house. Right about then, Wayne and his brother, and now and then a worker, would coincidently arrive. The kitchen filled up with swarming children(all girls!), backpacks, chatter, bickering and whining, laughter and a couple of kids from across the street. The 'fridge door would be jerked open, out came the milk. Plates clattered, and the silverware drawer would be crashed open, forks flew out on to the table. Chairs scraped the floor. Then the back door would open again, and in came the tree trimmers, with a waft of fir or oak or brush-pile smoke ahead of them. Wayne's brother would have a beer in hand to wash his cake down, sometimes he brought me one. Usually I had a fresh cup of coffee, so I'd put the beer into the 'fridge and he'd drink it the next day.
Inside of fifteen minutes an entire cake would be gone.
Oh how could I forget the baby boy? When 'the sisters' arrived, for whom he had been waiting in great anticipation at the window with Punkin-the-long-haired-orange cat, he'd squeal with delight and drop to all fours and plow into the kitchen to meet head-on the incoming crowd.
This is my present-day Little Man. Well. Not so little, but the name fits him. Emerson is dealing with this rainy day in typical Labbie fashion. I know there is a glimmer of hope that some one (me) will take him to the Lake one of these days. Little does he know how bone-tired I have been. I am grateful for this day to catch up some on tiny bits of housework, to make a meal for tonight, to work in my studio. I am most grateful that I feel so upright! Alive! Nothing hurts, and I am coughing very little. Shhhhh (whispering here), I AM RETURNING TO THE LIVING!!!!! I just don't want Emerson to know quite yet, understand? Isn't he handsome and cute?
This is my elixir: It is a fresh lemon, sliced, a couple of broad-leafed sage leaves, and fresh ginger, sliced. After letting it steep, I pour a cup and add a generous teaspoon of honey. I have been drinking this by the gallon, seriously. Guess what else I discovered: pour this(cooled) into about 1/2 bottle of Pellegrino and voila! Limoncello!
And this is my present day Tree Trimmer. Actually, he is a chiropractor, but he still loves that saw. I scold him if I think that he is trimming too much (hahaha!), and he does it anyway. He does not eat a cake a day, and besides, I don't really feel like baking one every single day anyways. Not to mention that we would lose our fantastic figures.
Someday I may write about loving this man. It hasn't all been peaches and roses, though that may have been an unrealistic expectation in the first place. Even as I write this it occurs to me, what would he write about loving me? Maybe we will write a piece together. Maybe that is what we are doing.
Yes, now I go paint. Wait, I'm hungry!