Let them eat cake and laugh

I've managed to inspire some laughter during my lifetime. In fact, I'm chuckling right now as I type. Part of that laughter comes from my story telling. Part my story telling comes from times when ghoulish people have laughed AT me and not WITH me.

In many of these situations, I laughed later. After all, the alternative ain't no fun.

Yes, indeed, misery and miserable situations spawn laughter. And, when you're the center of attention in the misery, you're wanting to cry while everyone else revels in their amusements.

Moments come to mind. Style reviews at the Bonner County Fair, which are well documented in my first book Pocket Girdles. As Marianne, the ultimate Wonder Years klutz, trudged out there onto the walkway, slumped over and obviously uncomfortable in her purple dress adorned with black cumberbund and bolero accessories, catcalls and shrill whistles from adolescent humans strategically seated throughout the audience would ensue. Even pigs beneath the bleachers would squeal.

God, I hated that.

Now, I laugh out loud. I guess it's so long ago I'm safe from the humiliation. And, if I'd been in the audience watching me stumble around as gracefully as a blind mule, I probably would have been laughing too.

I also hated the times when my cake baking and decorating fell short of expectations. Sometimes, those were occasions when the heat was on me to produce something edible and presentable for a family birthday celebration.

I guess I can blame it on the stress and desperation that I must have transferred to the ingredients while stirring them with a spoon or beating them up with a hand mixer. Apparently, the finished dough, poured into the pan, came not only with flour, eggs and sugar but also with a terminal case of the jitters.

After 40 minutes or so at 375 or 400 degrees, I'd take those layer pans out of the oven, cut around their sides, turn over the pans and half the cooked cake would land on the plate while the other half remained steadfastly stuck to the pan.

"Not again," I'd think, then uttering a few expletives deleted while taking that knife, scooping out the resistant half layer and try to marry it with its more cooperative half. The end result was never pretty.

Time was always of the essence. If it was an upcoming celebration, I had barely enough time to get the damn thing frosted. Going to the store to buy a professional model to replace my home-baked disaster was never an option. And, as fast as my life zipped by back in those days with young children, a husband and too much teaching to do, I seldom waited for the cake to cool off before dabbing on a coat of frosting.

Of course, this always took more time than desired cuz the frosting often resisted that hot cake. I really couldn't blame it. After all, who would want to jump on board when the board is still sizzling at 300-plus degrees? So, the minute I'd spread on a new glob, an earlier glob would come cascading down the chocolate mountain onto the plate.

Expletives deleted.

It took a lot of time to get that cake covered, and when it was finally done (after the layers cooled off, of course), the end result was pretty pathetic.

And, when the crowd would gather around to eat cake for the celebration, they'd laugh. My mother still switches instantly into delighted hysteria, accompanied by kleenex, whenever she's reminded of the chocolate two-layer cake I crafted (?) for Bill's birthday the spring after I met him.

Mount St. Helen's hadn't erupted yet, and its lava flow hadn't headed down the Toutle River, but Mother always uses that image to describe the sight she saw that night. If I recall correctly, however, she did take her piece of cake and eat it too----like the rest of us.

After all, she'd earned it after laughing off that many calories.

The moment was, indeed, miserable for me, but I've also chuckled many times since, and to save my self image, have avoided decorating cakes. Yoke's does a much nicer job.

In the meantime, I have been directed to a website by a former student. This site has taken me home. It has taken me home to those days of my imperfect cake decorating, and I'm now laughing almost as enthusiastically as my mother.

My dearly beloved student, Leeann Rammler Thompson (her mom's a nurse at Bonner General Hospital) now lives in California. She also maintains a blog (http://www.frazzmom.blogspot.com/) and often suggests other websites she's found when not taxiing her kids to their myriad of school and sports activities.

By the way, Leeann's the reason the Love family got a scanner for Christmas one year back in the '80s(That's another story).

I visited her suggested cake decorating site the other day and then wrote to her, facetiously asking how somebody snapped pictures of all those cakes I'd decorated.

With no more adieu, this is for the frustrated creators of inferior products. Enjoy, and be sure to keep scrolling (http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/)