Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities begins with these infamous lines…”It was the best of times. It was the worst of times…” One hundred sixty-three years since its publication, we are living in the 3rd year of a global pandemic, “with no in-between times.” in sight. Yet, our family found time for celebration. On October 17, 2021, my grandmother turned 100 years old. For a brief moment, in the midst of global chaos, we found joy. No, rather, “joy” found us. Grandma Ruth, is the center of that joy. She is the calm in the midst of a storm and no matter the season we all find ourselves in, we celebrate her. We celebrate, and we remember for there are “no in-between times. There simply, “is.”
Her birthday colors were rose pink, black and gold. We’d planned an outside car parade complete with balloons, party hats, a Saturday birthday luncheon at a seafood restaurant on the river in Daytona Beach, followed by a birthday dinner, and culminating with celebration cake aptly suited for the occasion. The cake was a yellow layered cake with luscious milk chocolate buttercream that tasted sublime. It was studded with toasted Georgia pecans and adorned with white chocolate dipped strawberries and fondant white sprinkles.
Her birthday cake was an homage to Grandma’s Chocolate cakes throughout the years. Every year we looked forward to one of her huge 3 layer yellow cakes with chocolate icing strewn with pecan halves all over it. Never mind the fact that her cakes were traditionally, a Duncan Hines box cake (canned icing and all). Her cakes were always richly made with butter despite being boxed cakes. Those cakes literally melted in your mouth. She always noted, ” Well, it’s just a box cake ’cause you know, Grandma, ain’t no good at making homemade cakes.” In her mind, it was her downfall–to us, that cake was nirvana. It was what made every celebration complete whether it was Easter, Anniversary, Wedding, or a birthday but especially, Christmas. It sat inside a vintage cake dome on the center of the dining room table along side a huge silver tray of every fruit imaginable. Encircled by every kind of shelled nut, Brazil, walnut, pecans, hazelnuts. Next to a pan of pecan brownies and stacked boxes of Krispy Kreme Donuts. Despite all that–the chocolate iced, yellow cake and pecans, always took center stage at her house during the holidays.
Everyone fondly remembers those cakes. Grandma would always add: “there’s Neopolitan ice cream in the freezer.” We all knew the tradition. Her birthday would be a reminder of those days. Except today was different. Today, this chocolate cake had a unique feature which read: “Happy 100th Birthday!” This cake was a rich homemade, buttery, confection (nothing boxed here). The chocolate buttercream was oozing with pure chocolate goodness. It tasted like the richest candy bar studded with chunks of the sweetest, Georgia pecans. Despite being a hot in-climate day (it’s mid October), the icing grew increasingly warm and soft in this summer-like weather.
We all delighted in this pinnacle event and in Grandma’s physical presence. She’d made it to be 100 years old.100 years old. I held my breath that she would make it to this day for she (like her cake) is only slightly like her “familiar self.” Now, she’s bolder, more humorous, yet, more outspoken than ever before. She maintains a high degree of etiquette but, will “speak her mind” (as we say in the South) when necessary. After dinner she asked: “so is there any dessert?” When told her there would be dessert for her birthday she politely responded with a thoughtful, “ohhh, because dinner should always end with a dessert” she hinted. And later, she said to me, ” now, may I have another piece of cake and another scoop of ice cream?” I then reminded her, that she’d already had 2 scoops of ice cream to which she responded, “well, can I have another?” I smiled, and gave her another “child’s portion” of delicious strawberry and cream ice cream and another small sliver of cake ( because Grandma’s had a history of diabetes which has subsided in her older years).
The most humorous memory was the picture my sister, Carla, tried to stage of Grandma Ruth “helping me cut the cake.” My sister instructed Grandma to place her hand next to mine on the serving knife while simultaneously, looking towards the camera (and away from the cake). Grandma responded, “okay, hold the knife, and smile, right?” Carla, responded, “yes, now look at me, Grandma.” She repeated, “Grandma look at me.” Carla, meant for her to look towards the camera (in the opposite direction of the cake) which was totally illogical to Grandma. After 2 or 3 failed tries, we attempted a 1-2-3 count down-still failing. None of this made sense to Grandma Ruth. Why hold the knife and look away from the cake? She rationalized, “shouldn’t I be looking here?” she asked. Frowning, Grandma, persisted, “but, the cake is over here” she pointed towards the cake and away from the camera, growing irritated with all of us. We all responded, “nooooo, just hold the knife, pretend to cut the cake and smile towards the camera!” She let out a huge sigh, and responded, “okay, hold the knife, look at Carla and smile, right?” Again, we gave her a 1-2-3 countdown. On “3” she was to smile at the camera. Finally, in resignation, she turned towards the camera, gritted her teeth into a phony smile ( as if to say, “arggggg!”) and Carla snapped the photo. That photo ended up being the one the mayor of Daytona Beach posted on his official page honoring Grandma. It was the most hilarious picture as I’m caught looking crossed-eyed (about the explode in laughter at the ridiculousness of the entire scene). As Carla snapped the photo, we all (except Grandma who was “over it” and all of us) roared with laughter! It is a scene I’ll never forget because despite her dementia, Grandma was using reasoning at how illogical it was to have her to pretend to cut the cake yet, look away from it.
Memories are like rain, they come down like a sweltering, summer shower. But, sometimes they pour down like a heavy storm. At times, you get swept up in their essence. At times, you never understand how precious they are at the time they’re gone You can never “unlive” them. You can never re-live them. You can never retract them. However, you can conveniently or inconveniently, forget them like a word that’s forgotten but, resides on the tip of our tongue.. The fault is in ourselves…not the day or the hour. There are no in-between times. Like the Africans believe about “the state of being”, and the verb, “to be” you either, are or you are not present. Will be, was or would have been is non-sensical to a “state of being.” And so, Grandma’s 100th birthday is for us “the best of times.”
COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Dr. Cheryl D. Sorrells–All rights reserved. No parts of this blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, Cheryl D. Sorrells. Inquiries should be addressed to Cheryl D. Sorrells @ cheryl.bakes@yahoo.com
cheryl'sbutterbakesblog 