Ummmm, Cake!

There can be a lot of negative said about upcoming birthdays, at least once you get out of your twenties. (Remember those?)

I remember my sixth birthday, because Vicki, my neighbor, gave me a plaid umbrella just my size and it was raining.

I remember my sixteenth because my mother cooked a huge supper and my boyfriend was invited over to share it.

I remember my twenty-first because I was so upset that I was, somehow, more of an adult than I'd ever been before.

I remember forty because my stinky brothers put a big old ad in the newspaper, you know the kind "Lordy, lordy, look who's forty".  And my then sister-in-law put together a huge album of my life thus far.

For the last several birthdays, a tradition of sorts has been made. I get an Italian Cream Cake. Now, I remember the first time I tasted one of these. I thought it was the best thing I'd ever put in my mouth!

But the bakery that  made them (from scratch) eventually closed down and that was that. Until somehow or other I found out Beverly made Italian Cream cakes. From scratch.

She's a person who loves to cook, especially bake. You know the kind. You change churches because of her. Every time there is a dinner at her church, she cooks. So, I mean, what else can you do?

So, for the last several years, as part of my birthday, my husband purchases an Italian Cream Cake from her. I share, of course. Daughter gets a piece and Husband usually two pieces. Then I put a padlock on the cake holder and all's well with my world.

Anyway, a tragedy has occurred. Her oven broke down. Slap up and quit. She's had parts ordered for weeks, and the repairman came yesterday, but alas, he has to order even more parts!

So my birthday Italian Cream Cake, (from scratch), may wind up being my Valentine Italian Cream Cake. From scratch. Or maybe even my Saint Patrick's Italian Cream Cake. From Scratch.

I know I can get through this. I'm a big girl (shut up), and mature and know that it's just a few days difference.

Pray for me, people. Pray for me.