Peppermint and Chocoate

The anticipation was the best part of my mother's weekly surprise for us. She would bake a cake, not just a cake, but a special cake each Saturday afternoon for my sister and myself. Oh, they were marvelous. One week she baked a cake with M & Ms stuck on the frosting, and one week she made a cake with a big clown on the top, but there was one cake that stole my heart. It was a Hershey's cocoa cake recipe from the can, and the icing recipe was there as well. It was so rich and chocolaty, but the thing that made it so special were the peppermint candies she would crush and put on top of the cake.

I would beg her to just keep making that one, and we had it quite often, but I couldn't get enough of that rich, chocolaty taste with the cooling peppermint. To me, that flavor represented home, family, and everything comforting in life.

When I was older and out on my own, I tried to make the cake that I loved so much, but somehow mine never tasted quite as good as Mom's did. I'm not sure why because I followed the same recipe and crushed peppermint candy for the top, but Mom's cake still outshone mine. It never discouraged me, however, and every Saturday afternoon I would attempt to duplicate her fine cake.

Time marched on, and I got married and had a child, and then another, and finally another. I was the accountant for a large car dealership during the day, and then came home to my full time roll as cook, housekeeper, wife, and mother. My husband was a great help through all of it, and if he hadn't been there I probably would have lost my mind, but his suppers of beans and wieners was like a feast if I didn't have to cook. There was certainly no time to bake a cake, even though the taste of it went through my mind so fleetingly, as I lay down for a much needed nap.

The boys got older and began getting involved in baseball and other sports after school, which left me some free time. Saturday's were my husband's day with the boys, and my time to relax, and it was way over time to make that cake. I worked feverishly on it all afternoon, trying to get it just perfect, but for some reason the cake fell and was not even worth frosting. I sat down in a kitchen chair, took my apron off and sobbed for better days. I wasn't complaining about my life, I had a great husband and kids, but I had lost my mother ten years ago, and the cake was the one link we had with each other.

Time flies, especially as we get older. The boys were grown and out on there own, and my husband had passed away a year ago from a premature heart attack. It shook my whole world when he died, a man who had been in good physical health all his life is suddenly taken by a heart attack. Apparently it was a strange quirk in his heart that nobody ever caught, but now it was too late. I sat down in front of the bay window in the living room with my cup of coffee, and watched the children in the street playing kick ball. It was very quiet in the house with the boys gone and my dear husband gone as well. It seemed as though I knew more people in heaven than on earth, and since I was never very outgoing, it wasn't likely I would meet too many more friends in my later days. Oh, I had my knitting and my crochet. I did art and posted it online to get a quick uplift in spirits when someone would compliment me on my work. But something was missing. I thought hard and soon took my glasses off and lay them on the table while I continued to watch the children. I started to nod off and could feel my head dropping down to my chest, but I was suddenly so tired that all I could do was let it drop and keep sleeping. As I went to sleep, I had a dream about the first time Mom made that cake for us, and was reminded of what she said when she served it. Remembering her smile sent a jolt of feelings through me, feelings of longing for home and wanting my mother. Her words that day rang through my mind clear and bold. She said to never give up in life, no matter what the day brought. Always smile and keep a positive attitude, and a sense of humor. I smiled, even as I slept, and suddenly woke up with a new feeling of joy inside me. I had been feeling sorry for myself, and now I knew why my mother made those cakes. My dad was always gone on a trip, and she had to find a way to pass the time with me and my sister that made us all happy.

I got up, put my glasses on and headed for the kitchen. An hour later, I was sitting in front of a piece of chocolate cake with peppermints crumbled on top. I picked up my fork, hesitating, as a sense of dread pushed away my happy thoughts. What if this isn't like mom's? The words she spoke in my dream flooded back into my head, and I smiled, thinking that all I had now was time, time to perfect the cake. I tore off a small piece and brought it to my lips, hesitated again, and then shoved it in my mouth. Oh Lord, the bells of the church should be ringing! It was finally perfect! What had I done differently to make it come out so well, and what did I do wrong before? Maybe nothing, maybe the peppermint, chocolate cake only tastes right when it is really needed. Maybe those other cakes were okay, but it wasn't needed at that point in my life, so it didn't taste special.

I thanked my mother, who I often spoke to even though she had passed, and it felt as though we smiled at each other. I covered the rest of the cake and headed for bed, content that I had finally conquered the secret, not so much the cake, and that I once again felt close to family, home, and my mother.