It’s christmas and holidays and family all rolled into one! I’ll do my best to not go so far off track.

Anyway. Recap. Broke up with the one-legged guy. School. FINALS MATH ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN HISTORY GOYA!!!! I think that’s all of that. Broke. Last final (in Math!) Dec. 23rd. Tired OMG tired. No money and no time means epic present failure because I am the Selfish Absentee Mom and all things must be good. Aren’t we glad I’m in counseling so I at least know how I’m torturing myself?

So I invite Daughter’s dad, my ex, up for Christmas Eve, the feast of pizza and Bruce Willis movies. And he asks if he can come back up for Christmas day, and I say why don’t you spend the night? And no, I did not mean it that way, and hastily sent emails talking about air mattresses and basements. Save! for K!

So he says he’ll make dinner – ham and scalloped corn, and Waldorf salad, and my head recognizes these things as his traditions, and that’s fine. So I’ll make The Cake.

(And here I must digress. The one-legged guy’s dad served in Arkansas at some point, and so the one-legged guy (OLG? Why not. I’ve called him many things, and many much-worse things) in the middle of some clever banter came out with “all y’all better..” This, of course, gives me legal rights to say “y’all.” It’s written down somewhere.)

Y’all know this Cake as the One True Southern Cake, Red Velvet, as seen in the movie, “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou.” But it wasn’t always so, at least not in My Family. My mother made it for some occasion, and it became the “It” cake for our family, and soon it became Not Christmas Morning if we didn’t have leftover Cake for breakfast.

But it wasn’t Red Velvet; it was Red Waldorf Cake, and the story was that my Aunt Joyce had been at a schoolteacher’s convention and was staying at a hotel out east and had this cake and loved it and asked for the recipe, so the hotel “gave” it to her and charged her $100, so she gave a copy of it to everybody she knew. My parents told us this story, with that look that parents have of, “Please let this satisfy their tiny little curiosities so we don’t have to elaborate,” and I was young and distractible, so that’s all I know. (And – true story – I was reading this book about Urban Legends and there was this story about this schoolteacher who went out East to a convention…So now I have no idea, except I believe Aunt Joyce because she was my favorite. Did I tell you about the apricots?)

So. “It” Cake. So it’s been along for birthdays and holidays for more than 50 years. It’s part of my family’s legends. I had it for my fifth? sixth? birthday, and I told my guests that it was colored with blood. (This didn’t go over so well, for some reason. No imagination, I guess.) My oldest brother and I made it together, probably only once but it stuck in my head as Something We Did Together, so it feels like we did it all the time.

The ex came in and dropped stuff off and had to head to Walmart before it closed, so I pressured Daughter into going with him, and finished making the Cake and its Frosting. The Frosting is the worst part; it’s the part I remember about making the Cake with Kurt. The Frosting is flour and milk cooked and cooled, and then you mix together shitloads of powdered sugar and butter with a hint of vanilla and mix it into the flour/ milk thing. And Kurt and I would taste it and look at each other and say, “More butter!” and then “More sugar!” And maybe it only happened that one time but it’s so stuck in my head that


I get derailed, which is probably why the frosting always comes out lumpy and weird and not necessarily good.

So, D-Dad had started the ham just before I came home from work yesterday, so I didn’t get to see that he’d tossed it in the oven with the plastic protector piece still on the bone, or that he’d tossed it in cut-side up without any sort of glaze. I wasn’t watching when he made the scalloped corn, so I have no idea why it separated (I did manage to hand him the traditional casserole to bake it in). I think it’s the apples, or maybe that he doesn’t break up the walnut pieces or cut down the grapes, or maybe it’s just that he makes it at the last minute that makes it kind of blah; at least he uses mayonaise. The mashed potatoes were excellent, however, and he took most of the ham away with him, so that’s all good.

Nobody besides me ate the Cake on Christmas Eve; in fact Daughter didn’t have any till after dinner last night, and D-Dad didn’t have any. I think it’s time I quit making it, and concentrate on Waldorf salad and scalloped corn. They only go back twenty years or so.

Anyway. Small metals. Bunny Rabbit Hare.

I love my mutant bunny. I made him. I can take a flat shiny piece of metal and turn it into a mutant bunny. I can take a flat shiny piece of metal and turn it into anything I want – even back into a flat shiny piece of metal, so y’all can just step back and watch, because I am now awesome.

College is good.