Our next-door neighbor observed her 86th birthday yesterday. (In my opinion, she belongs in the Guinness Book of
World Records for being the oldest senior citizen to singlehandedly mow her
lawn with a push mower in the summer, and hand-shovel snow in the winter.) I
baked her a small, dark chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, and decorated
it with edible pastel pink and lavender roses.
My husband and I knocked on her door without warning, and
sang Happy Birthday to yoooou, Happy
Birthday to yoooou, Happy Birthday dear Maaaaaargaret, Happy Birthday to YOU
at the top of our lungs. On the other
side of the storm door, the birthday girl’s jaw dropped in surprise. I felt a special kind of joy in delivering
this musical, edible birthday greeting, especially since she was celebrating
her big day alone.
While in the process of baking and decorating Margaret’s
perky little beauty of a cake, I also made a larger one peppered with tiny neon
fish sprinkles in honor of our weekend lake visitors: The Three Amigos. This is the name our 13-year-old grandson and
two buddies have given themselves. They hope to catch fish for tomorrow’s
lunch, but if the fish don’t do their part and take the bait, I figure at least
they will have a fishy cake.
Earlier this morning I mixed up a batch of yeast dough. At 11:00 The Three Amigos took a break from aggressive tubing (think
body-slamming) to inhale soft, squishy, gooey, fresh-out-of-the-oven cinnamon
rolls. I had to laugh as they affirmed their piggish
delight with lusty grunts that I think translated into ecstasy. I told them bravo for the feedback - that
such animated verbal affirmation is good motivation for the cook, and if they
wanted more food, they should keep the compliments coming. A rousing chorus of blissful groans followed.
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