Skip to main content

Cake bosses


I am not so keen on edible art...so much work and planning and so much requirement for a steady hand and then, BAM...hacked up and eaten...(icing first of course).
I am thrilled and awed when someone else can do it, I watch those cake decorating shows with a kind of reverence that I reserve for churches and intricate art.

Yeah...so this kind of cake was never going to happen...by my hand.
When an idea for decorating a cake takes hold...I go from the extravagant ideal to the plain do-able pretty darn fast.  However, I still have , on some level, for some crazy reason, a smidgen of pride in these matters and wish that I could impress with my cake decorating abilities.  If only I could pull off all of these ideas... Some part of me sighs, if I could, it would  be  a sign to the world that I am capable of so many amazing feats.  Alas, mustering all of my inner resources still results in "creative" results and I end up reckoning that the evidence will be eaten anyhow. I attempt to sweep aside all those unrealistic expectations I have of myself that I know but cannot seem to always truly believe do not really mean anything in the big scheme of things.

It went from a spiderweb cake to a cobweb cake in short order...but, despite my reluctance, my wanting to pull it off all by myself, my kids insisted on adding to my vision...disrupting my perfect mother, can-do-it-all-effortlessly facade.
Before I could bellow, "I'm the one in charge here, I've got a reputation to try and create and tend here", spider eggs, snakes, and tarantulas were added to the canvas.

And I think we made it perfect.

The cake decorating highlights of my very short lived career...
...and no, that is not a Barbie cake, it's a rock star cake.


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A 5 minute challenge

WifeMotherExpletive  extended an invitation I could not refuse: " Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking" on the word, Real . real is what I always strive to be.  in a hurry to be as real as possible, I've overlooked so much.  I have denied myself things that would have helped me understand things better.  real, but real for who? as I age, I want to be more real to me because I suspect that there will be many surprises. hard to believe that I will be surprised since I have lived with myself for 36 , going on 37 years, but I don't doubt it for one minute.  Honesty is where I falter.  I can achieve "real" (does it qualify as real if it is in quotation marks) but it may not be true.  In general, I want things to be tied up in a package and smooth even it is too jagged to fit.  I want this, I know that to be real, it cannot happen but I think true is what I need to really aim for.  I know some things are tru...
Post a Comment
Read more

the words fell out

 Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out.  They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch.  Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable.  Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions,  accusations, reflections,  words...
Post a Comment
Read more

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...
Post a Comment
Read more