Childhood Magic and Cake

My very first memory of my grandparent's house was watching the presidential debate between Carter & Reagan. That evening 2 things happened: I learned of my family's political standing and I started checking under my bed to make sure that Nixon wasn't there.

Even though this is my first memory of their home, it is not the first one I think of when I look back at that time. I think of magic and baking. My grandparents lived in a large frame two-story house that had a thick wood front door with a lion's head knocker. The living room was long and there was light and windows everywhere. From there, large glass french doors opened up into the dining room where the piano and books were kept. Then there was the kitchen.

There were always surprises waiting to be found. My grandfather would hide a fresh package of Play Doh in the pantry and my grandmother would have the candy cave filled with baked and bought treats.

The candy cave was an unusually built in cabinet that I have not seen in another home. Perhaps you have. I believe it was a section just big enough for double cabinet doors which were above and below. In the middle was a countertop where all things yummy were kept. There were cookies and candies wrapped in bright foil twists and in the center of it all on its own covered glass pedestal was a yellow layer cake with thick chocolate frosting. Oh yes, I was a pudgy child.

I loved to help my grandmother bake. I can still remember her clay mixing bowl with the blue painted trim and just how her chocolate chip cookie dough tasted. Cookies were something that we would make together, it was the cake that she would have made before I got there. I loved seeing that cake waiting for me. It gave me a sense of magic still existing somewhere. And real magic when you are a child - there's nothing like it. It's believing that the most wonderful dream really did come true. Not the dream where you win the lottery, but the one where you remember how to fly.

Things like that just seemed possible at their house. There were so many rooms to be explored. So many unexpected places. There were traps (sometimes you could not get out of the upstairs bathroom), random pieces of art (my grandfather's foil paintings on the wall, my aunt's butterfly on the pull down shade), strange shaped rooms (the dormer room's ceilings were shaped to the house. in this room I first said "butterfly". the force of the word made me take a step back). Small animals could be found anywhere, as could a good story. That home was a wonderland of delights.

That yellow cake with chocolate fudge icing will always be the cake that I am craving at 2 a.m., but the cake that truly throws glitter over my world is the pink bunny cake from my 4th birthday. My aunt made it for me. A strawberry cake with the most perfect pale bunny rabbit nose pink icing. It was a flat cake in the shape of a bunny head. I think it may have had gumdrop eyes & nose. All cakes no matter how fancy are measured by that pink bunny.

My aunt's home had a different kind of magic. Whereas my grandparent's house felt like it was the magician, my aunt's house felt like it was located in magic. The only other building you could see from her home was their barn. I caught my first fish in the watering pond just down the hill. At night you could see the Milky Way from their front yard. A small horse roamed there looking for fresh crab apples. Their son is about my age and I thought he was the luckiest kid. I was thrilled with his three wheeler. We would go off riding into the pastures, picking milkweed and trying to scare the cows. Maybe he tried too often 'cause they didn't hardly budge for us. My dad would take us on what seemed like long walks down some dirt road into the middle of nowhere. There was always a creek and some long abandoned home with only spiders there to greet you from the porch.

I actually have few memories of my aunt's home, but the ones I do have are vivid with detail. They are fresh in my mind now because I recently received a message from someone who is from that time. For me she was the creator of magic. She was one of those vital women in my life that were like my mom, but not my mom. Her magic was in her long dark hair, her bright eyes and a smile that contained the happiest of songs. My memories of her always involve laughing and singing. I can remember some camping trips and watching movies (Wizard of Oz, Young Frankenstein, 7 Brides for 7 Brothers - the first two terrified me and I still love the last two). But like all childhood magic she had left my life too quickly and to suddenly. I have no idea what our future holds, but knowing that she is still out there feels like knowing that tonight I might be able to remember how to fly. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow I'll find another bunny cake.