Seventeen and a half years ago–and you’ll see in a moment why I can tell you that’s when it was–I was newly diagnosed with lupus and none too happy about it. Turns out my mother’s cousin had died of it–that’s bad enough–a week before her wedding date. Add that to your pathos and stir a bit.
So I was feeling none too happy; I had four small children, my youngest being two, and I wanted to see them grow up.
My husband decided I needed some cheering up, so he recruited a friend of ours to the task: they were going to throw me a surprise party. Only trouble is, it was early June and my birthday was in December. Not a problem–they would throw me a half-birthday party.
Which is how I came to be standing in her living room, surrounded by friends, totally stunned, as I was presented with a glorious cake that had inscribed on it in frosting,
Hap
Birt
Ali!
So. I found out when it was her birthday, and later that year made her a chocolate torte, my specialty then and now, made with bittersweet chocolate and manufacturing cream (what they dilute with milk to make heavy whipping cream. Rich stuff.) I surprised her back with it with a card that said, ” ‘Hap Birt Ali!’ Happy birthday to you, too, she re-torted.”
Fast forward. I didn’t get a birthday cake this year. Mom is here, and she didn’t get one either. And Richard and I just had our 26-and-a-half-year anniversary. So, finally, I made an almond cake (Dad’s allergic to chocolate) in the shape of a castle. I was hoping to snap a picture of it half eaten to go along with the theme, but my sons woke up this morning before I did. And can you think of a better breakfast than leftover cake? Six eggs in there, just like scrambled only with a little extra stuff thrown in, right?
Happy New Year, everybody!