Crazy Marge's National Cake Day

She was unraveled when I met her. Call it what you like, paranoid, delusional, senile, her real name was Marge. She might of once been a kind, sweet lady, but that type of behavior I was never witness to when I knew her. She did one thing really well to her credit. As a single mom when there were few devorced women, she did a fantastic job of raising my husband. I just pray to God, Hubby doesn't inherit her dementia.

The first time I met her I started out the relationship totally on the wrong foot. I turned down the piece of lemon meringue pie she had offered me. I had not realized back then in my naive state, that the one of the few foods I dislike was the very same food she loved to make. Often. Or perhalps she never liked to make lemon meringue pie until she knew I hated it. "You don't get much out of this world, but the little bit of food you put in you", Marge would always comment when I turned down her pie. Anyway the bonding never grew with my mother in law. Perhalps because I stole her Oil of Olay. (she would hide it and lose it, then blame me.) Or maybe it was the men that she imagined living in her walls that whispered foul things about me to her. I feel bad for her now, that must have been horrible for her to have believed such awful things were going on around her. At the time it was fustrating for us. But her antics were always sadly humorous as well. "Don't get wind on your neck, you'll catch cold", she would warn me in July. The day she moved all her belongings into our old hunting truck were she planned to live, we knew we could not take care of her any longer. She was not my biological Mum or even related, but the older I become, the more sense that woman made.

Yesterday started out very stressful. It was one of those days that I woke up late and behind schedule for my busy day ahead of me. I was to work before going into work. I needed to bake a large special order cheese cake and take it into the bistro for the catering job I was preparing for. Hoping to make use of my kitchen before the rest of my family invaded my clean work space, I came down stairs to my quiet area and stopped dead in my tracks. A pack of cackling jackals destroyed the room the night before while I had slept. Dirt everywhere and on everything. I had to do a thurow cleaning before I could begin to bake. I was almost finished with sparking suroundings when my boys woke up and came bounding into my territory. 'Morning Mom! What's for breakfast?" they greeted me. "Cereal, later when I am done" is my reply. Three hours or so later I convince them to leave me alone to work in my kitcken. I had just started mixing the ingredients with my stand mixer with my back to it when K1 sneaks back in and I catch him with his fingers in my batter. "ARRRRRRGHHH- NOO!", I howl knowing full well I cannot sell a cake someone's fingers have been in. I start a new cake, scraping together enough cream cheese for the five pound monster I am to bake.

My second attept at gastomic success is just about ready to come out of the oven when the manager of my work calls to tell me that she was mistaken, the party is NEXT weekend not today. Sorry I don't need to come in. Sorry my cheese cake loving ass I think as I slam around my kitchen in a disgruntled huff. Waste my morning will you.

"Mom! Mom! Mom! Can we have the cake? And can you pick up the Jakes and take us over to Eli"s with it?", the kids plot. "Your not going into work?", my hubby skeams. "Good you can give me a hair cut and help me winterize my boat", is his brilliant plans for my now "free" day. "Mom! Hurry- we gotta be at Eli's already!" Everyone now has plans to fill my time off.

I am searching through my utility door for my car keys and my eyes spot Marge's silver pie server sitting there seldom used. "I'll show them", I thought as I grabbed up that instrument of torture along with that hog swamping cake and headed for my couch. "Your dad will drive you- I'm on vacation."

When hubby came back he found me on the couch, were I spent the rest of the day bonding with that cake. I was in the cake zone. I was one with the cake. I was behind that cake. I was all about cake. It took me all day but I finished that cake, eating it with my silver spoon if you will.

Yes it was five pounds I know because I put four pounds of cheese in it.

I once made a friend of mine a French silk chocolate pie for his birthday and Mitch ate the entire thing. I marveled at his ability at the time but he told me, "I enjoyed the whole thing immensely, it was delicious, but I can tell you truthfully, the last bite wasn't as good as the first." I beg to differ Mitch, the last bite was a challenge, finishing that last bite was a reward in its self.

But I wasn't lazy on that couch. I read while I ate. Between chapters of Anna Korina , I'd eat and nap. I'd even change positions occasionaly. Whenever family members got too near I'd yell things like, "Damn men in the wall ate my cake!" Or, "One step closer and I'm moving out to the truck without a scarf for my neck!" scary but effective words around here.

That Marge was onto something good. You don't get out of this world with much but the little bit of food you put into yourself. In her honor I proclaim yesterday as National Cake Day. Do yourself a favor and eat a cake or a pie for her, please. Scarves optional.