A Piece of Cake to Go

I've been thinking about my father for the past couple of days.  I miss him a lot.  So here's a little tribute to my father...and something we had in common :o)

Anyone who knows me knows that one of my favorite foods is cake.  I’m talking about real cake: moist, rich, fattening, with the traditional “sugar and lard” frosting.  No carrot cake: vegetables have no place in desserts!  No pound cake: it’s too plain.  Also: none of that ‘best crème” for me! I want to taste and enjoy every calorie.

Now, the cake doesn’t have to be the fanciest, or from an authentic French bakery.  My aunt that lives down the street from my mother makes a lemon Bundt cake that is so good we actually fight over it.  Sometimes she makes a whole cake, and sometimes she makes little individual ones: one for each person in my mother’s house and my house.  So when it’s the small ones, we try to barter with someone else so we can have two, or I try to talk Kai-Enna into not wanting hers because it’s too lemony.  When it’s a whole cake, I go over to my mother’s and cut the biggest piece I can, and then eat it in the car so my girls don’t even know about it!  Sure that’s part of the reason why I look the way I do, but seriously: if you ever had a chance to taste it you would know exactly what I’m talking about. Unfortunately, you’ll never get a chance to taste it because if she sent you any: I’d eat it in my car!

I have decided that it’s not my fault that I like cake so much.  I’m going to blame it on my father and say it’s an inherited quality.  He loved cake, and he didn’t even care what kind.  He’d even eat fruit cake!  Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised by that since he also liked black jellybeans, but I digress…

He so enjoyed when my mother would bake; and when I grew up and had my own place whenever I would bake I’d always bring a piece of cake over for he and my mother.

But as the years went by, my mother came down with Type 2 diabetes and totally changed her diet so cake at that time was out.  I think my father came down with it too, but he always said, “I don’t have diabetes; I just have a touch of the sugar.”  Seriously Clarence?  Every time he’d say that it would drive my mother nuts!  After all, she was depriving herself due to doctor’s orders, but my father was still loving life and living large.  Change his diet?  Not on your life!

We still tell a lot of stories about my father.  At the time maybe the situation wasn’t that funny but over time they made us chuckle.  The year or so before he died he was having trouble with his balance and his legs, and sometimes he would fall.  When that happened my mother would usually call me to see if I could come over and help get him up. After all, she was barely 5 feet tall and he was 6’1”.  Being the giant that I am, who else would she call for help?  On this particular occasion, it was a day or so after Kai’s birthday, and we’d had a party at their house.  I had left the extra cake there.  My father had fallen in the kitchen, so I went over and helped get him up and into a chair that was by the wall so he could rest and regain his strength.  Well once we got him settled in the chair, he said, “Can you scoot me over to the table?  I might as well have a piece of cake while I’m sitting here.”  And sure enough: I scooted him over to the table and cut him a slice of birthday cake!  Man, did he enjoy it.  I had to go home and lay down after that episode!

But here’s the real proof of how much my father loved cake.  Since he’s died, I’ve often had dreams about him.  Well, according to my best friend who thinks she knows everything about dreams, these aren’t dreams but actually visits from my father due to the realism and content.  Anyhoo, the last time I dreamed about my father was a few months ago.  In the dream, I had made dinner for a date of mine (that’s how I knew it was a dream because I had a date); and for dessert had baked a dark chocolate layer cake with butter cream frosting.   I went into the kitchen and there stood my father in a dark blue suit.  Yes, he always dresses up when he visits, ha ha.  He says to me, “How about a piece of that cake to go?”  So I get a paper plate and a napkin, cut him a slice of the cake, put it on the paper plate with a plastic fork, cover it with foil and hand it to him.  He says, “Thank you” and then is gone.

Maybe that sounds crazy, but to me it seemed perfectly natural.  After all, when he was alive he knew who always provided him with delicious cake.  Apparently some things never change.