Prema’s Famous Bunny Cake
I started making this cake so many years ago, when my children were little, that it has become a family tradition every Easter dinner. Now, I cannot get away without making it. Since so many others have partaken of its delectable goodness over time, it has become quite famous in certain circles.
I start preparing the evening before Easter with mixing oodles of melted chocolate into a huge bowl of cake batter. I make several cakes, actually. Since I am not one to stick to a recipe, it is always somewhat of an improvisation. The morning after it has been baked and cooled, I cut it into the necessary shapes and start building this three dimensional bunny on my serving platter. Three half round pans make up the body. They are all side by side, stuck together by perfectly whipped whip cream. Then I cut out two smaller quarter rounds for the head, one little one for the tail, two haunches and back legs, and two ears. The whip cream glue is the perfect medium for holding it all together. I may need a couple of toothpicks to hold the ears somewhat erect. Then I slather the whipped cream over the whole form. Then comes the fun part of sprinkling and, in some side places, throwing shredded coconut over it all. It is a furry bunny, after all. The final touch is a chocolate covered almond for the nose and two pink Sunspire candied peanuts for the eyes. I clean up the platter and place strawberries and foil wrapped chocolate eggs around the whole sculpture. It is truly magnificent, if I say so myself.
Of course, some years it turns out better than others. There are always bits and pieces of cake that got cut away in order to create the form. Dipping them in extra whipped cream is part of the ritual. Now I get to pass on this Easter dinner staple to my grandchildren. Maybe, someday, they will learn to make it.
Prema Rose
5/30/09
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Gene’s Wedding
Struck by the warmth and simplicity, my heart opened more as I gazed upon my oldest son and his about-to-be wife. They stood facing each other, she in a long dark red dress with sequins here and there…he in a black tux, white shirt and dark red bowtie and cummerbund.
It was warm in the small Christian church, air-conditioning at a minimum in the unexpectedly humid, eighty-five degree May day. Sweat beaded on Gene’s upper lip and temples, and Elsa leaned over and dabbed his face with a tissue. It was a kind gesture. The pastor, standing up close to them, his bald pate beaming along with his round face, smiled at them both.
I had been greeted at the door by Pastor Pat, hugged fiercely to his barrel chest, and proclaimed ‘Mom!’ I had been previously warned about his hugging proclivities.
Gene used his own tissue and wiped a tear escaping Elsa’s eye as the pastor continued the wedding ceremony.
Breaks for singing accompanied the standard biblical passages about a man and woman leaving the parent’s house and cleaving to each other. Gene’s brother, Lanai, and I were asked to read these passages and we each rose at our prompt, stood at the reader’s podium, and read to the twenty-five people gathered for the noon marriage.
With the exchange of rings and vows, I glanced over at my other son, Nick, and his wife and two young daughters. All eyes were glued on the couple at the altar.
The ‘you may now kiss the bride’ statement elicited sighs from both of the happy couple, with applause following.
One last guitar piece with vocal duet, and the newly married extension of my family became a reality. Elsa and Gene, along with her five children all dressed in white dresses or small black suits, followed them out of the church doors into the early afternoon sunlight. Cameras flashed, congrats given, and smiles warmed each face as they stood in a greeting line.
Elsa hugged me and called me mom.
We headed off for a catered Asian food reception. Conversation flowed from all three large tables as the dishes made their way to each tables’ lazy-susan in the center.
I looked around at my now extended family and was amazed at how large it was becoming.
I was so glad Gene and Elsa had found each other, and were helping the other heal wounds from past relationships, and creating a new family for themselves.
It was a day of new beginnings for many of us there.
Jyoti
It was warm in the small Christian church, air-conditioning at a minimum in the unexpectedly humid, eighty-five degree May day. Sweat beaded on Gene’s upper lip and temples, and Elsa leaned over and dabbed his face with a tissue. It was a kind gesture. The pastor, standing up close to them, his bald pate beaming along with his round face, smiled at them both.
I had been greeted at the door by Pastor Pat, hugged fiercely to his barrel chest, and proclaimed ‘Mom!’ I had been previously warned about his hugging proclivities.
Gene used his own tissue and wiped a tear escaping Elsa’s eye as the pastor continued the wedding ceremony.
Breaks for singing accompanied the standard biblical passages about a man and woman leaving the parent’s house and cleaving to each other. Gene’s brother, Lanai, and I were asked to read these passages and we each rose at our prompt, stood at the reader’s podium, and read to the twenty-five people gathered for the noon marriage.
With the exchange of rings and vows, I glanced over at my other son, Nick, and his wife and two young daughters. All eyes were glued on the couple at the altar.
The ‘you may now kiss the bride’ statement elicited sighs from both of the happy couple, with applause following.
One last guitar piece with vocal duet, and the newly married extension of my family became a reality. Elsa and Gene, along with her five children all dressed in white dresses or small black suits, followed them out of the church doors into the early afternoon sunlight. Cameras flashed, congrats given, and smiles warmed each face as they stood in a greeting line.
Elsa hugged me and called me mom.
We headed off for a catered Asian food reception. Conversation flowed from all three large tables as the dishes made their way to each tables’ lazy-susan in the center.
I looked around at my now extended family and was amazed at how large it was becoming.
I was so glad Gene and Elsa had found each other, and were helping the other heal wounds from past relationships, and creating a new family for themselves.
It was a day of new beginnings for many of us there.
Jyoti
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tree
Standing in a sea of eternity
The tree cast nets of shadows.
Then pulling in the dusky night
O'er velvet waves of grass
Brought home our firey souls
To rest on fettered shores.
Jesse
The tree cast nets of shadows.
Then pulling in the dusky night
O'er velvet waves of grass
Brought home our firey souls
To rest on fettered shores.
Jesse
Thursday, May 28, 2009
A White Cowboy Hat
One week ago today I got up in the morning, took a shower, got dressed and drove to the airport. I had worked long hard hours to get my schedule clear so that I could spend time with you. Who knows? I had thrown my white cowboy hat in the back seat yesterday so that I wouldn’t forget it. I was wearing it in the only picture that you have seen of me. And I have one tiny picture of you in a tightly buttoned grey shirt. But today you said that you would be wearing a green shirt as you traveled across the country.
At the airport I pulled out my notebook as I waited for your plane to land and jotted down ideas and observations:
I am wearing my old white cowboy hat so that a man I have yet to meet ~ will recognize me. I feel amazing calm. Months of written conversations and talking on the phone nearly every night….. waiting and wondering …. what’s next? Goddess only knows!
Airports are great for people watching. Sometimes the folks waiting and the passenger arriving look so much alike that even I could match them up. Watching a persons face light up as they recognize their loved ones, followed by hugs and kisses. The look of others as they desperately search the waiting crowd for a friendly face. I wonder what face I have worn in the past. I wonder what I look like today?
Uh Oh! The airport greeter, the woman standing at the top of stairs to answer questions and keep people moving, is wearing a White Cowboy Hat! There are several guys in black cowboy hats, that won’t confuse my long awaited traveler .... but Miss Congeniality, that might do it. I wander up to the dividing barricade and get her attention as the last batches of incoming passengers are absorbed into the awaiting crowd. I look at her with mock seriousness and tell her that I am a little worried. “Oh” she says with warm concern, “what are you worried about? I will try and help you.” she says sweetly.
“Well, I have a situation. I am picking up a fellow here today that I have never met in person. He's wearing a green shirt. I know his voice but I am not at all certain that I will recognize him, and he is looking for a woman in a white cowboy hat. Now I am worried that he is going to see you first and ……..“ I scrunched up my shoulders and placed a question mark on my face.
She looks at the grin on my face and senses the lightness of this conversation. Smiling, she leans towards me and nearly whispers, “You should be worried. If a nice looking young man approaches me first, attracted by my cowboy hat, I don’t care what color shirt he’s wearing, I am so out of here ~ and I’m taking him with me!” Our eyes meet and acknowledge my humorous predicament.
I notice that the gentleman to my left, with his forearms leaning on the barricade, is intently watching the unmoving floor tiles in front of him, but his shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as he leans towards the two of us so as not to miss a word. “Okay then, I guess I had better pay close attention.” I laugh softly as I begin to move away, “I’m going to be watching you!”
“Good luck” she waves at me as she heads back to her station; we both are wearing silly grins with our white hats. I had just checked the Arrival Board before my conversation with Mrs. Congeniality, and it indicated that the plane I am waiting for is ‘In the Area’ but not on the ground. Humm, it seems that his plane is going to be late. I look down and rummage through my cowgirl handbag for my cell phone to check the time…..again.
I feel someone standing in front of me. I look up and there he is, smiling. He found me.
You are finally here. Bless the Goddess!
* annette.
At the airport I pulled out my notebook as I waited for your plane to land and jotted down ideas and observations:
I am wearing my old white cowboy hat so that a man I have yet to meet ~ will recognize me. I feel amazing calm. Months of written conversations and talking on the phone nearly every night….. waiting and wondering …. what’s next? Goddess only knows!
Airports are great for people watching. Sometimes the folks waiting and the passenger arriving look so much alike that even I could match them up. Watching a persons face light up as they recognize their loved ones, followed by hugs and kisses. The look of others as they desperately search the waiting crowd for a friendly face. I wonder what face I have worn in the past. I wonder what I look like today?
Uh Oh! The airport greeter, the woman standing at the top of stairs to answer questions and keep people moving, is wearing a White Cowboy Hat! There are several guys in black cowboy hats, that won’t confuse my long awaited traveler .... but Miss Congeniality, that might do it. I wander up to the dividing barricade and get her attention as the last batches of incoming passengers are absorbed into the awaiting crowd. I look at her with mock seriousness and tell her that I am a little worried. “Oh” she says with warm concern, “what are you worried about? I will try and help you.” she says sweetly.
“Well, I have a situation. I am picking up a fellow here today that I have never met in person. He's wearing a green shirt. I know his voice but I am not at all certain that I will recognize him, and he is looking for a woman in a white cowboy hat. Now I am worried that he is going to see you first and ……..“ I scrunched up my shoulders and placed a question mark on my face.
She looks at the grin on my face and senses the lightness of this conversation. Smiling, she leans towards me and nearly whispers, “You should be worried. If a nice looking young man approaches me first, attracted by my cowboy hat, I don’t care what color shirt he’s wearing, I am so out of here ~ and I’m taking him with me!” Our eyes meet and acknowledge my humorous predicament.
I notice that the gentleman to my left, with his forearms leaning on the barricade, is intently watching the unmoving floor tiles in front of him, but his shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as he leans towards the two of us so as not to miss a word. “Okay then, I guess I had better pay close attention.” I laugh softly as I begin to move away, “I’m going to be watching you!”
“Good luck” she waves at me as she heads back to her station; we both are wearing silly grins with our white hats. I had just checked the Arrival Board before my conversation with Mrs. Congeniality, and it indicated that the plane I am waiting for is ‘In the Area’ but not on the ground. Humm, it seems that his plane is going to be late. I look down and rummage through my cowgirl handbag for my cell phone to check the time…..again.
I feel someone standing in front of me. I look up and there he is, smiling. He found me.
You are finally here. Bless the Goddess!
* annette.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Alright
Flinging myself into the unknown corridor
I half cringe not knowing what lies beyond
I half celebrate the faceless unmapped moments
What could be more hidden
than each undetermined minute
revealing and resolving in its time
faces and feelings overlooked
unnamed and yet to be traveled
I awaken to a lullaby
of willow trees and soft winds
of summer about to begin
And then I remember
it is alright
Mary
I half cringe not knowing what lies beyond
I half celebrate the faceless unmapped moments
What could be more hidden
than each undetermined minute
revealing and resolving in its time
faces and feelings overlooked
unnamed and yet to be traveled
I awaken to a lullaby
of willow trees and soft winds
of summer about to begin
And then I remember
it is alright
Mary
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
My Dream Kitchen
When I bought my house, I said, “oh well”, to the kitchen. The smallness of it didn’t matter anymore. Life was down to me, having cooked for others for so many years. I thought I was relieved the kitchen wouldn’t be my reason for being at this time of my life. I was wrong, my focus will always be preparing food, something nourishing just for myself or joyfully for others also.
My true dream kitchen would be outdoors. In the summers especially, all the cooking would be outdoors. Cooking with nature amidst the vegetable garden, a close extension with the Mother seems extremely gratifying. I haven’t even grilled outside in several years, laziness, paranoia of a gas grill, but have great hopes of changing that this season.
I think of colonial times and how the kitchen was separate from the house, and sometimes even outdoors. How civilized! To be sealed up in a house while cooking is really quite confining. Food odors linger, especially clinging to older homes. Not many of us have a kitchen that is open to the outdoors, where we can open all the windows and pretend we’re in nature. The next best thing is an outdoor shower.
Patricia
My true dream kitchen would be outdoors. In the summers especially, all the cooking would be outdoors. Cooking with nature amidst the vegetable garden, a close extension with the Mother seems extremely gratifying. I haven’t even grilled outside in several years, laziness, paranoia of a gas grill, but have great hopes of changing that this season.
I think of colonial times and how the kitchen was separate from the house, and sometimes even outdoors. How civilized! To be sealed up in a house while cooking is really quite confining. Food odors linger, especially clinging to older homes. Not many of us have a kitchen that is open to the outdoors, where we can open all the windows and pretend we’re in nature. The next best thing is an outdoor shower.
Patricia
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Burgundy Shawl
When I first wore the burgundy shawl it was Christmas, 1978. It was a gift from Frannie, the office manager at the investment firm I worked for. I delivered stocks in downtown Denver. Knowing I was a free spirit, she figured that I was a person who would wear shawls. She was right.
Since then, this 3’by3’ woven square of wine-colored woolen yarn has served me well. It has sheltered me through 3 marriages, 2 divorces, 2 childbirths, countless menstrual moons, as well as menopause.
It reminds me of how my Grandpa Johnson complimented me whenever I wore red.
Worn around my neck in the winter it’s protected me from chills. Worn around my waist, I am a gypsy. Worn as a head scarf, I am a Muslim or Audrey Hepburn. Held in my hands, it can unfurl into a moving cloud of color, I am a belly dancer. It has been a blanket for picnics and sudden sex.
Countless meditations have been marked by wrapping it around my body, to cocoon the flesh and allowing my inner self to merge into oneness.
As my prayer rug, I have prayed in the Muslim tradition as a Sufi, facing Mecca.
As an altar cloth, it has served as I have honored my ancestors and celebrated the pagan high holidays, both outside under the stars and inside in solitary rituals.
The fringe around the edge still quavers in the breeze.
This shawl is steeped in the many flavors of my life. It carries forward what I once was into what I am now, reminding me of that inner fiber that is always the same no matter how it is styled and used from day to day.
--by Terra Rafael
Since then, this 3’by3’ woven square of wine-colored woolen yarn has served me well. It has sheltered me through 3 marriages, 2 divorces, 2 childbirths, countless menstrual moons, as well as menopause.
It reminds me of how my Grandpa Johnson complimented me whenever I wore red.
Worn around my neck in the winter it’s protected me from chills. Worn around my waist, I am a gypsy. Worn as a head scarf, I am a Muslim or Audrey Hepburn. Held in my hands, it can unfurl into a moving cloud of color, I am a belly dancer. It has been a blanket for picnics and sudden sex.
Countless meditations have been marked by wrapping it around my body, to cocoon the flesh and allowing my inner self to merge into oneness.
As my prayer rug, I have prayed in the Muslim tradition as a Sufi, facing Mecca.
As an altar cloth, it has served as I have honored my ancestors and celebrated the pagan high holidays, both outside under the stars and inside in solitary rituals.
The fringe around the edge still quavers in the breeze.
This shawl is steeped in the many flavors of my life. It carries forward what I once was into what I am now, reminding me of that inner fiber that is always the same no matter how it is styled and used from day to day.
--by Terra Rafael
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