So how was your Easter holiday? I truly hope yours was as sunshine and smile filled as mine was. The weekend was spent at my mother's lake house. I was the only weekend-long house guest but Saturday my brother and his family as well as Keri and her boyfriend came for the day. As is always the case when the Terry family gathers, craziness follows.
Friday began in the most awesome of ways...sunny skies and temps in the low 80's. After the horrifically snowy, frigid winter we had, I was thrilled to finally feel the heat of a blazing sun on my skin. The warmer weather afforded me a lovely little convertible ride to Georgia. Two hours of wind whipping through my hair and singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs...ain't nothing better for the soul. Never mind that my silly dancing-behind-the-wheel moves and my waaaayyyy-off-key vocals left many a confused and bemused traveler in my wake. Kinda forgot with the top down my antics werre exposed for all the world to see. Didn't bother me one teeny tiny bit! What did bother me was the enormous amount of pollen polluted air I inhaled as I zoomed down the highway. Can we say puffy, watery eyes accompanied by painful sinus pressure and nasty nasal congestion? The result was a beautiful allergy attack. Swollen eyes and runny red nose...simply beautiful!
My mother's house is in the rural town of Toccoa, GA. Not much exists in this lazy little town. At least that's how it appears to this big-city dwelling urbanite. Actually, Asheville, my hometown, is considered a small town by most people's standards, but I would argue it is a major metropolis when compared to the likes of Toccoa, GA. Up until last year, my mom was a life long resident of North Carolina. Given I've only been to her new house once, I got lost....several times. One reason is I can't see worth a darn at night. Another is the roads aren't marked very well and street lights are non-existent in her neck of the woods. Not to completely shift blame, but the directions I was given weren't exactly accurate. Growing up in a backwoods, countrified area, I'm accustomed to directions based on landmarks. The kind where you turn up yonder just a little ways past the baptist church and travel on a piece til you git to the dirt road on the other side a' the creek then make a left after the second hay field. Again, I am a country girl by definition but Oh. My. Word! I can't always tell a hay field from any other field, especially not in the dark! And will someone please tell me where one field ends and another begins? What exactly delineates the two? This was the manner in which I was told how to find the needle of a house in the sea of hay stacks. My favorite was being told to "Turn between the two white fences..." Well, I never found two white fences. When I later questioned this fact, I was informed the fences may have moved but the road was still there. ?????????
Several wrong turns and backtracking of roads later, I finally arrived and was greeted by the smell of something heavenly and delicious. There is something ultra "homey" about the scent of any baked good wafting from the kitchen. The sweetness envelops you like a warm hug and reminds you of that old saying "There's No Place Like Home". My mom is a fantastic baker! Absolutely fantastic! People far and wide request her cakes. Friday night, however, was not her night. I've dubbed it The Night The Cake Came Alive! Having already made a scrumptious strawberry cake...my brother's favorite...she wanted to add a chocolate cake to Saturday's line-up. The baking cake was what lured me into the kitchen. I hovered over her with a spoon at the ready as she mixed the butter cream frosting. I had to have a spoonful to savor while the chocolate layers cooled. Her icing was the smoothest, creamiest I've ever tasted. I could only imagine how good it would be once slathered all over the chocolate yumminess of the cake.
Seems I wasn't destined to find out how good it really would be...at least not in the traditional cake-eating sense. Through some misfortune of fate, the layers didn't fully release from the pans. With great painstaking effort, we reconstructed them to what we hoped would be "stable" layers. As mom began frosting the bottom layer, we began to think we might have pulled off the save of the century. If we could succeed in transferring the next two layers, all would be well. Layer number two. Ummm...kinda, sorta made it. With crossed fingers, Mom added the frosting in hopes it would serve as the glue that would hold it all together. Again, so far so good. Then came layer number three. Carefully and oh so gently we placed it on top of the other two. It was then that disaster struck. The cake suddenly sprang to life and began to creep. From the center outward the white of the frosting began to meld into the mocha colored layers creating an ooey-gooey mess. The cake platter on which it rested could not contain the molten marvel. I tried valiantly but unsuccessfully to wrap my arms and hands around it in an attempt to keep its intended circular shape. The result was an ooey-gooey ME! All I could do was laugh and lick myself! Hmmm, that doesn't sound exactly right but you know what I mean. After all was said and done, I wasn't feeling so well. I may in fact have consumed the equivalent of half a cake. Who really knows? I went to bed that night with my sweet tooth sated and a seriously upset stomach. As I lay in bed listening to the defiant rumblings of my tummy, feeling my hips growing with each and every gurgle, I prayed my retro workouts would in some way off-set the damage I had done...hoping like heck Billy Blanks and Jane Fonda wouldn't abandon me in my hour of need.
So ended day one of my weekend get-away. This is but a mere prelude to the zaniness of Saturday. I'll be back with a few more stories later this week. In the mean time, here's a fun little challenge. Make like me and cover your hands and arms with frosting then lick til your hearts content. I can promise you it will be fun but I can't promise you won't need a few Tums!