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In life, there is no “list of
ingredients” to guide you to love, success, and happiness. Real life has no step-by-step instructions
telling you what to add, when to do something, and what will happen next. Life is not a dessert. Sometimes, life is delicious, but
occasionally the sweetness burns to a crisp and you have to try something
else. I don’t just want to have my cake
and eat it too. I also want to have the
cookies, brownies, fruit crisp, and pie—Don’t forget to include the
recipe. Trying to figure out the
ingredients to life keep me busy enough!
It took us almost a year, but Grams
and I have officially baked our way through the entire dessert section of the
Ahlden Family Cookbook. Our final
dessert was Rum Cake, which was submitted by Diane Ahlden. This recipe was the last to be done because
we never had the main ingredient at my parents house-Dark Spiced Rum. Not only was this me and Grams first time
baking with rum, it was also my mother’s first time tasting dark rum. Rum Cake was the perfect dessert for June 12th. We made the cake for my dad’s birthday, so we
were able to eat and “cheers” to my dad in the same swallow! Grandma was laughing was we dumped an entire
cup of rum into the cake batter. Grams
was in a happy mood, but she was so wound up that it still wasn’t her true
self. We were baking with rum, but her
temperament was most similar to that of a drunken teenager. She was all over the house, jumping from one
task to another, without ever really finishing a single project.
After she swept the floor for the
fourth time, I decided it was time to settle her down with some baking. The dough for this cake is very thick. I was nervous as we poured it into the pundt
pan because the batter was so heavy. Grams
reminded me that sometimes you have to wait until the end of the baking time to
find out if it will be edible. It can be
difficult to trust your baking or to go through with a tough decision without
knowing the results or the outcome. The
Rum Cake batter reminded me that sometimes you have to make the choice that
gives you inner peace, not necessarily the one that everyone else wants you to
make. Grams was right, the Rum Cake
turned out great for my dad’s birthday dessert.
We were all surprised at the taste potency of spiced rum in the baked
cake. I will warn you that you can
certainly taste the rum in this cake.
Out of curiosity and concern, we Googled the amount of proof that
alcohol contains while baking at a high temperature. As I stated, an entire cup of rum when into
this cake. We were worried that my mom
would be feeling a bit tipsy after eating her piece. We learned that after baking for an hour, the
proof of alcohol is reduced to less than 25% of the original percentage. Still, you’ve been warned, and be cautious of
eating and driving!
Some recipes are better than others,
just as some days are better than others.
I have seen this first hand as Grandma Ahlden’s mind slips in and
out. Over this past year, we tasted
amazing desserts, and tasted a few that we would not make again. The same idea goes with life; Grams and I
have both had some “sweet” experiences, as well as some “burnt” experiences.
Sweet Moments
Grams
·
Having her best Great-Grand-Girls over for
Christmas Sugar Cookies
·
Holding her 30th Great-Grand Child
·
Seeing her children’s names engraved in her and
Grandpa Ahlden’s headstone
·
Making Rhubarb Crunch
·
Baking with Amber :)
Me
·
Family vacation in Missouri
·
Seeing my sister happy and independent in her
new home
·
Falling in love
·
Successfully making a layer cake
·
Baking with Grandma :)
Burnt Moments
Grams
·
Not recognizing people close to me
·
Getting lost in Danforth
·
Loosing keys
Amber
·
Moving out of Bloomington-Normal
·
Missing family
·
Getting lost in Chicago
Together, the sweet and the burnt
experiences in this year have completely changed me into a different person
than I was last June when Grams and I began our baking journey. I have become more of an adult, while Grams
has regressed farther into a child’s perspective. It’s certainly true that Grams needs more
guidance in the kitchen than she did last June, or last week for that matter,
but it is also true that she can whip a blender and spatula around like
nothing’s changed.
Most of the desserts Grams and I
have baked have been prepared and eaten at my parents’ home in Danforth. It’s the place that I always find myself
going back to. Its home, but home
doesn’t have just one definition or single location. Home is wherever you feel love and give love
in return. Love is always present in a
home. It’s the photographs on the wall
and the mail on the counter received from family and friends. Love can be brought to any home or any place
of living. This year, my family has
packed many moving boxes and built up new “homes”: Ashley moved in Parkview, I
moved back to Danforth, my boyfriend Andy moved to begin his career, and Adam’s
girlfriend, Lauren, moved to be closer to Adam in Missouri. When you unlock the front door it is just a
house; but after the first hug or smile, it’s a home. Many people in our family have struggled with
the term “home.” True, Ashley moved into
a “group home” and yes, we’ve talked to Grams about a “nursing home.” But I like to think that this just gives
people the opportunity to have multiple “homes.” Ashley still has her home here, as well as
her new home at Parkview. Grams will
always have the Crescent City homestead as her home, and I still think of
Grandma’s first house and Danforth as her home.
Really she is home whenever she is at my parents’ house too. Home is just where you are loved.
I have been putting off making
the Rum Cake partly because I didn’t have spiced rum, but mostly because this
is the last recipe in our journey through the cookbook. Over the past year, Grams and I have baked 40 new desserts. Just because I won’t be blogging about me and
Grams’ baking, doesn’t mean that we won’t continue baking together. The day that we baked the Rum Cake, Grams
called my cell phone early in the morning just to say hi and see what I was
doing that day. It made me smile that
she remembered our baking and wanted to spend the day together. Ironically, as we are finishing the last
recipe in our baking journey, Grams is getting the gas to her oven turned off. The flame to the stove will never light
again, and someday much too soon, the light in Gram’s mind will stop sparking
too. Thankfully, I and others who love
Grams always carry around a match to try and kindle the flame as at starts to
dim. My match will always be a cookbook
and a delicious dessert!
The
Lights Go Dark
By Amber Johnson
She pulls out a piece of paper and a pen to jot down the recipe for her
famous potato salad. She has made it so
many times that she knows the recipe by heart.
It has been a staple at every family event for as long as she can
remember. She writes down three pounds
of peeled white potatoes and one cup mayonnaise. She stops writing. The pen rests still against the paper as she
tries to think of the other ingredients.
She can’t recall what is in this recipe that she has made countless times
before. She can’t remember the things
she used to know.
The
lamp on the coffee table near the old lazy boy recliner illuminates the room
through its half moon glow. The once
powerful bulb slowly begins to dim as its strength fades with time. The lamp near the chair has been the source
of light for reading the morning newspaper and doing crossword puzzles on cold
winter evenings. Darker and darker the
room grows until eventually the lamp’s bulb gives out, and the corner of the
room where the old lamp sits goes dark.
***
She stares blankly out
the window. It’s a beautiful spring day,
and the pansies are in full bloom. She
looks down to find a roll of paper towels in her left hand and a bottle of
glass cleaner in her right. She is not
sure why she is holding these things, or what you do with them. She can’t remember what she was just doing.
The bright ceiling
light illuminates the kitchen for sweet baking and coffee drinking. Hanging from above, it provides the light for
exact measuring and taste testing. Many
years of lighting the warm kitchen has made it tired and weak. Losing strength, it flicks twice as the room
is warned with a flash of dark-light-dark-light. A soft pop is heard and the ceiling light
goes out leaving the once bright kitchen quiet and dark.
***
The woman in front of her looks
familiar. She wonders if they have met
before. Their emerald green eyes sparkle
in the same way, and they have matching crooked noses. The woman seems kind, and her voice sounds
like a sweet song heard many times before.
She smiles at the woman who leans in to hug her. Closing her eyes, she breathes in the
familiar smell of the woman’s lavender shampoo.
She smiles back, but she can’t remember who this person is.
The
lights of the old house have worked hard through the years lighting the rooms
through tears and laughter. Illuminating
the old house day after day has caused the lights to grow tired with time. It’s these old bulbs that hold the memories
of family and home. But as the memories
fade, so do the lights, and eventually the bulbs can burn no more. Throughout the house the rooms grow still as
the lights die out. The old family home
is still and dark.
***
She sits in her parked car staring out the dashboard window in front of
her. The place is unfamiliar though she
may have been here before. She can’t
recognize the homes around her or the mini vans and pick-up trucks parked in
the driveways. She shifts the car into
drive, but isn’t sure which direction to steer her old Buick. She can’t remember where she is.
The sturdy street lights running
down Jefferson Avenue provide the light for lazy summer evening on the front
porch swing. Like clockwork, the bulbs
start burning every evening at seven o’clock, and give off the light needed to
read a good book as the lightning bugs dance around in the breeze. No matter what was happening in life, a
person could always count on the street lights to turn on at seven. The street changed as families moved in and
out, and houses came up and down.
Eventually the dependable street lights could keep up no more, and down
the road the lights went out one by one until the entire street went dark.
***
She reaches out to touch the face of the
woman looking back at her in the mirror.
The woman she sees in the glass has a frail face and tired eyes. There is something familiar about the soft
smile of the woman in the mirror. She
feels a cool wetness on her cheek, and sees a tear fall from the emerald green
eye of the woman in the mirror. She
looks away from the glass, and realizes that she can’t remember who she is.
The
lights of the small town are the foundation of all things meaningful in
life. The bulbs at the school burn where
classes are held and football games are played.
The church lights illuminate the sanctuary where Sunday services are
attended and weddings are held. Reliable
and true, the lights brighten up the homes of friends and family throughout
town, but like all good things the city lights grow dim and tire. Over time, they cannot keep up with life, and
their illumination begins to fade. Unable to produce light anymore, the bulbs
throughout the town flick off, and the entire town goes empty and dark.
Rum Cake—Diane Ahlden Recipe
1 box of yellow
cake mix
1 large instant
vanilla pudding
½ cup rum (dark)
½ cup water
4 eggs
1 cup chopped
nuts
Beat all
ingredients for 2 minutes. Grease and
flour pundt pan. Put one cup chopped
nuts into bottom. Pour batter over. Bake
at 325 for 1 hour.
Glaze:
½ stick margarine
1 cup sugar
½ cup water
1/3 to ½ cup rum
(more or less)
Pour over cake in
pan while still hot. Take from pan in 2
hours.
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