Today I baked a cake, a banana cake to be exact. With cream cheese frosting. Covered with walnuts. Four hours of my life. Standing on my feet most of that time.  I’m bringing it to my mother-in-law because she likes it when people make cakes for her. The cake on the left is not mine. It comes from a stock photo. Mine is covered with tinfoil sitting on a shelf of the refrigerator, not looking nearly so neat. I don’t seem to be capable of frosting a cake without including the plate, the walls, the counter, and me.

Regarding this venture, I felt baking a cake from scratch was a good idea at the time. I should have laid down until the feeling passed. In the middle of the third hour of waiting for the stupid cake to come out of the stupid oven, with a sink full of dirty dishes, pots, and pans, I realized that I like it when people bake cakes for me, too. I’m going to push for that from now on. Somebody bake me a cake.

Of course, it won’t be hubby. His idea of baking is going to the store and buying a Just Desserts cupcake. It’s similar to his idea of cooking. Go to the store and buy sandwiches. He may be on to something.

Tomorrow we drive up the San Francisco and deliver the cake. I will take copious pictures of it. t may be my from scratch swan song.