As it stands, I’m not much for cookies. |
(In all manners of life: when are we not?) |
Friends: this is the cake to bake the day the earthquake shakes you out of bed, when you first catch a shaking and rumbling after you get out of bed to pee. It’s the cake to bake when your boyfriend sends you the message “Mammogram turn out OK?” and you respond with a thumb’s down, find the almonds from the back of the pantry, preheat the oven. It’s a cake he can balance on the floor mats of your electric vehicle, quietly jostling at every left turn, en route to hard-working nurse in need of some sunshine.
We called all the boys and pulled out a slew of emergency supplies, cartons, tinctures. Unsure of what we were looking for, to be fair, but we’d know it when we saw it. |
We shopped and chopped and mopped, and in no time flat, a happy tower of TP sat proudly atop our own second glances. Where? We’ll never tell. |
But also: it’s the cake you bake when you’ve lost a sliver of hope through a long, dark winter.
And it’s the cake you bake when you’ve found it again, right here in the throes of the daily.
Liner notes:
-Recipe is from his mom, a fast fave.
-For the curious, any variation of a breast biopsy will do. Martin came with me for the Ultrasound, but I’m betting he would be there with me for any kind and I’ve got my eye on testing results the whole rest of this week for what comes next (ice-packs for a sick day, yes?).
-Would you believe this was my first time having to go back in for a second mammogram? Call me Nervous Nelly, and stat.
p.s. Up next: the sweetest cake you ever did see. Also: what are you baking? I want to hear everything.