Sweet Cake

I have a thing for cakes. I really love them. It seems every story I write involves some kind of cake. My novel, Toss the Bride, had a good share of cake scenes.

Up until she rudely moved for something like family reasons, we had an amazing cake maker we called upon for every sort of occasion. Since then, we’ve drifted a bit. But we got back on track for Baby #3’s baptism party. It was a cake by Cakes by Karen and it was fabulous. They also nailed my over-the-phone instructions for “saturated colors/but more of a focus on orange and aqua/hippie-dippie/very poppy.” I mean, could I be any more of a baker’s nightmare? But like I said, they absolutely got it perfectly.

The postscript to this cake is that at 2 a.m. the day of the baptism and party, Baby #2 was rushed to Children’s with a fever that just wouldn’t abate. Diagnosed with pneumonia, she and Jonathan returned home at 5 a.m. Then we were up and dressing, ironing and wrestling the baptismal baby into her heirloom gown for a 10 a.m. service. The sick one was brought to church just to stand up front with her family and then rushed back home. The party was cancelled, of course.

And the cake? Sliced up and given to our church family. A few slices were set aside for us, and we enjoyed them immensely back home.

Where Their Legs Will Take Them

It’s been a quiet weekend so far. Jonathan has a commission due, so he’s trying to get the paintings done (there are four) and out the door on Monday, shipped across the country to the collector.

Our middle child came down with a fever, so we cancelled two different dates with friends, plus an outing to another friend’s pool. Lots of Looney Tunes watching happening in the house. That, and pulling some very tenacious weeds in our suburban backyard.

We have friends who are an opera singer and art director, respectively. Their boy attends a magnet performing arts school, so my friend says he’s always putting on shows in their living room. I guess it’s what he sees at school and home (in the case of his opera singer mom). It’s no different here. Our eldest girl fashioned an art gallery today:

The apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.

Jonathan and I sometimes joke that we want our girls to be anything—anything!—other than an artist, writer or illustrator. We know it’s a hard road and sometimes dreams are pesky things to chase. Sometimes you chase them for a very long time.

But honestly, we would be proud to see them follow in our footsteps. I know we would. Already, they show a love for art and words that touch us. Their adults lives seem so far away but at the same time, I know it’s fast approaching. Faster than we’ll ever want it to be.