I made a cake for a luncheon last week. I don’t normally make cakes but the occasion called for it and I do enjoy making them. I have one memory that always comes to me whenever I am involved with cake though.
It was my son’s eleventh birthday. I was working full time and my calendar was full so instead of making his cake, I ordered it from a local bakery. Since Joel always associated food with love and he loved it when I cooked for him, I had to make up for the fact that I wasn’t making the cake. It had to be decorated properly with his favorite cartoon character, Bart Simpson.
The day before his birthday, I went to pick up the cake. It was a quarter sheet and the top of the box was propped open so it wouldn’t smash Bart who was riding a skateboard. I was thrilled with the artistry. I had just gotten off work so I was wearing a long skirt and four inch heels. I walked to my car admiring the cake which blocked my view of the ground. Suddenly, my shoe hit an immovable object...hard! It was a parking block that had jumped right out in front of me. I staggered four steps forward then three steps back and felt my heel knock against the parking block again. As I was stumbling around to regain my balance, juggling the cake, trying to keep it level with both hands and holding my breath. I would have done anything to keep from dropping it. I guess I had done enough and miraculously was able to hold on to the cake. I stood there breathing heavily and thanking God the cake had been spared. I looked over a few parking spaces to see a man sitting in his truck. He was laughing so hard I thought he was having a seizure. I gave him a weak smile and carefully placed the cake on the passenger seat. I walked around the car to get in and glanced his way again. I wondered if I should call 911 because he seemed to be gasping for breath, still laughing uncontrollably.
Sometimes I wish I had a video of that trip so I could watch it and laugh as heartily as he did. I hope that when he remembers me staggering around with that cake box in my hands that it brightens a dull or sad day for him. Happy to be of service.