Who's baking the cake?

Holidays...tradition...family gatherings. If you're lucky enough to have and enjoy all those things I believe  you are truly blessed.

All week I've rummaged for the recipe file that always gets pushed to the back of the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet right after Christmas. It's doubly hard to come up with this year because we moved this past summer and my whole life has been rearranged.

Finally, after reclaiming this treasure, I begin the long hikes through several cavernous grocery stores to find just the right ingredients. For our family the must have dish is a pumpkin cake. Its a recipe that stretches back into my childhood, and one of these sticky creations has graced the table each year at Thanksgiving and Christmas for my whole married life. If that doesn't qualify as a tradition then I don't understand the word.

When I was a little girl we always went to my Grandmother's house for the holidays. While the menu might have slight changes...from ham to turkey...salad to Cole slaw...the pumpkin cake was a constant. Time passed, I got married and my mom and dad came to our house for the holidays, visiting my grandparents a day later. This tradition transference meant my mom picked up the pumpkin cake and ran with it. It became her holiday signature Disney, and my children likely don't remember a holiday that the pumpkin cake didn't arrive in mom's dented cake pan. No matter what I bought her, that cake pan was her favorite; she'd frost the cake, put on the dented cover and scotch tape it to the dish so the cake couldn't slide out. Because she refused to replace it, the old dented cake pan also became a tradition, one that brought smiles every year.

After the feeding frenzy slowed and the desserts came out mom would make her yearly “I don't know if it's any good” announcement. Then she'd grin from ear to ear as the compliments flowed and the cake disappeared.  When mom died last year my daughter Wendy gallantly stepped up and made the pumpkin cake to keep the tradition going.   The celebration was more subdued, but seeing that cake on the table somehow made things a little better...a little more normal.

My daughter is a great cook, and her cake was letter perfect, but this year I've decided it's my turn. I sat this afternoon deciphering my grandmother's recipe card. Somewhere I have a card in mom's beautiful handwriting, but that will have to wait till I stumble upon it when I'm searching for something else.

As I write this the smell of pumpkin cake fills the house; I'm waiting for it to cool so I can slather the cream cheese icing on it. When that's do one I will put it in mom's dented cake pan, scotch tape it closed, and set it aside for tomorrow.

The years go by so quickly that you can easily lose track. Maybe you mark the years by how tall the grand kids are...or how many years you've been in your job. Looking back I can mark the years by who's baking the pumpkin cake. Once I've mastered this cake I will make sure a recipe card in my hand writing joins the others in the file. Tradition...it's the yardstick of life...and life is good.

                                                Happy Thanksgiving