Was it about red cake?
No, not really. Nor was it about gift exchanges or the home-cooked meal prepared by my mother’s surviving sister — as good as both were — or about being in my sister’s lovely home, dressed so fine for the holidays — as good as that was.
No.
No.
No.
In truth, it’s hard to say what yesterday was about. Except that it had something to do with Mother. And something to do with Aunt Jo, too. And a whole heck of a lot to do with this deep down desire of mine — and maybe others too — of keeping their memories alive.
It was in this vein that we assembled; Mother’s sister, both daughters and ex-daughter-in-law and our chicks and their chicks and even one of Aunt’s Jo’s grand-chicks. We convened to bake Mother’s red cake and along the way, we conversed. Then we dined. And drew numbers – not from a hat but a pretty piece of green depression glass — which allowed lucky number twelve to walk away with a bottle of White Shoulders cologne — the only scent I’d ever known Aunt Jo to wear. And because I got Sis to climb up rickety stairs into a cold attic to dislodge a dozen or so dusty paperbacks, we each picked out a vintage Harlequin Romance — to keep or do with as we will — as a visible reminder of Mom’s life.
But keeping a memory alive is a tricky business. It doesn’t just happen — nor does it happen, I think, by keeping up certain traditions or by following a recipe to the letter. At least, this is what I woke up to this morning. Because yesterday, though our red cake was a little crusty around the edges, and therefore, less than perfect — though we fell short in recreating Mom’s legend of a red cake — we walked away with something better; we walked away with not just a piece of dry cake, but a piece of Mom’s reality — something a little crusty around the edges — something a little like Mom would have baked herself — something even close to the person Mom was in real life.
Mom never baked a perfect red cake — as far as I know. If not dry, wasn’t it lop-sided? And didn’t most come out of the pan only partially — the rest following suit only after a hearty bang? And weren’t they cracked down the middle. Or had a side lopped off? Or sometimes both — in a particular dismal year of holiday baking?
Mom was not used to working with or toward perfection. But give her something broken — something dinged up — something that needed a fresh coat of paint and a little bit of love — well that, she could work with. And goodness knows, baking a red cake was no different — whatever fell apart was simply put back together as best she could, with toothpicks and some of that gooey frosting she made — the frosting that set her red cake apart from all others. I don’t ever remember Mom fussing over her visibly flawed red cake creations. She simply did that day’s best. Then released them — usually, with some off-hand benediction — something like, “Well, that’s all I can do to make it right.”
I miss Mom’s imperfection and her acceptance of imperfections — both in people and in life’s situations. I miss her ability to walk away from a less than perfect cake (or life) without a backward glance or desire for do-overs; I miss her uncanny knack of knowing how best to put the pieces of life back together when things get sticky but unglued — so that all involved could move on after taking deep breaths. Not because everyone and thing was ‘all better’, of course — but because everyone was still together — in spite of it all.
Yes, yesterday’s red cake was more about the crusty reality of Mom than whatever our affection and memories of her in the intervening years have made of her. And like any litmus, it revealed a substance of reality.
an everyday life 
My mentor once declared (it got quoted somewhere) “Why do you expect me to be consistent? I am a sinful human being!”
We do indeed need to accept limits and imperfections; we can only do the best we can with what we have at that moment. Sometimes it’s heroic, sometimes it’s not.
xxxx
I wonder, Viv, if such wisdom will ever take root in my soul — in full, not in part, everyday, rather than just my good days…
But as you say, surrounding ourselves with folks like your mentor and people like Mom and my husband keeps life in perspective — of what’s important. What’s not. And when I mess up life — confusing the important with the un — my husband is always good enough to raise his eyebrows and say, “You did what? Are you sure you want to leave it like that?” He doesn’t do this too often, so when he does, I think twice and often find myself back — pedaling. Or panhandling for forgiveness. In this way, he’s become a living litmus to help my life speak love.
Janell
Kate, Called last night and said the girls talked about what a good time they had all the way home. They also want the A frame cleaned up and the cats to not go to the bathroom in it so they can move in and be between the 2 houses. Reminds me of many children before and many feet going back and forth in previous years.
Glad they enjoyed their time at ‘the farm.’ Kara often relives memories of those summers when there were four houses within footsteps and Mother’s shop too. Of course, Kate must have those good memories, loving Mom as much as she did.’
Thanks for all you did to make it happen — see you soon.
Love,
Janell
I like your point of view, too. Love you Momma.
And I love you.
Mom
Janell,
I missed being with all of you yesterday but I knew I didn’t need to share my germs. I think you are doing a great job of keeping your mom’s ways and traditions alive. I miss her so much, she had such a unique way about her. She never really gave hugs or kisses but you always knew how much she loved you, what a gift. Loved, loved, loved her, still do.
We need to set a date for your birthday lunch. Would you like us to come to OKC or have it in Shawnee? We can do whatever you would like. I will talk to Christi and Jane Wednesday at Bunco and we will set a date, let me know if there are dates we should exclude.
Talk to you soon.
Love,
Judy
And we missed you too. Hope you’re feeling better.
Yes, I think Mom expressed love more through helpful actions, often just showing up in my life when I needed her most. She was always the favorite mom in the neighborhood — the place where everyone would go to have a splinter pulled out or a loose tooth pulled or whatever. She was practical that way.
As for birthday lunches, I’m planning to come down to Shawnee on Wed. the 14th if that works for everyone — Jane and I have a date to go buy her another pair of boots. So you all talk about it and whenever we celebrate, I’ll look forward to it.
See you soon.
Janell
Could relate to so much of what you shared.
I have so many memories.
Everyone gone
accept my children and grandchildren.
But I go on and am now making memories for them.
Take care…
Oh — and the way you describe — where everyone falls in order — first-in, first-out — well it makes me say, “Thank God.” Thank God that you and I have been spared the loss of children and grands, that we should life in a FIFO world.
And you’re right, in large part, Sunday was about making memories for my children and theirs.
Thanks for stopping in on this very cold December day. Our forecast shows a 30% chance for snow ‘showers’ — and Mother always enjoyed watching a beautiful snowfall.
Janell
What is it about families, I wonder, that they’re always fussing or discussing or re-membering or dis-membering?
Learning to live with no family makes the thought of trying to get along with a mediocre – or even bad! – family seem mighty preferable!
God — who knows — but that it’s been this way since the beginning of time — remember those colorful families of biblical times that were always fussing and discussing amongst their tribe members? Jacob and Esau come to the mind. And if I had to sum up the entire book of Deuteronomy in one word, I’d choose, “Remember,” since it beats through the text like a tom-tom drum.
But I was thinking the other day how important the exchange of words are to families and societies — to the nation and the world — and that as long as we talk, that as long as we remember, there’s hope for peace and a better world, from better and stronger relationships. Ironically, when discussions shut down — and even that fussing across the table — war rather than peace rules the land.
Hey, maybe it’s all about love…. love of self versus love of others and God.
Janell
Oh! I like the new look!
And I came back because I just remembered something else. Your Mom may not have been given to working toward perfection, but the other side of that coin was my Mom, who never would settle for anything less than perfection. Many, many cakes, sweaters, needlework pieces and assorted projects never were completed and shared because they weren’t “perfect”.
Finding that middle way can be hard.
Yes, it’s elusive, at least in my life. But not for Mom — at least when it came to her projects — at least when in her prime. Because everything she did was good. Her sewing. Her artwork. Her cooking. In fact, it was better than good. But she knew when to put something down and let it go — she knew how not to beat something to death with constant brush-strokes or whatever. In her prime, she took great pride in her cooking — and everything she made was wonderful — but again, she didn’t sweat it if something wasn’t up to par.
My Aunt Jo, on the other hand, was similar to your Mom. She was fussy and particular — and most days, I fear, I probably resemble Jo more than Mom in her prime — but I tell myself awareness of the flaw is part of the battle. And I’m better than I once was — but have a long way to go. Especially with my writing — but the act of gardening helps soften my prissy edges. 🙂
Janell