Happy Trails For Us: My Reluctant Blog

This was meant to be my post for February 6, but other things interceded as you all well know. But it fits so beautifully in our lives.

On Wednesday, I went to the funeral of a friend's mother, a woman who lived a wonderful 92 years, and was able to go out as she wished, dying in the home she had lived in, raised a daughter, retired from teaching, since 1954. The last years had been long and slow, very hard on her daughter to watch her mother slowly shrink into a shell of her former vibrant self. She was called Grandma Shorty by her two devoted grandchildren since she may have been all of 4'8''. Other children, including mine, came to know her that way. Before she became too infirm to leave her house she was the little lady in the seat on the aisle in the back pew at our High Holy days services, Rosh Hashonah, Yom Kippur and others as well.

It was a small graveside service, as you do not have a lot of friends left when you are 92. It was also a drizzy day that turned to rain. I felt a great honor to be included because my friend has always been a very private person, and so it was a good feeling to be there with a few friends and her family. We have know each other almost 25 years in the neighborhood; my son and her daughter played kindergarten soccer together; my friend would walk our new baby up and down the field. Because this is a small town, our children went to school together, went to Hebrew school together, even went to the junior prom together. Secretly we would have loved them to be more than friends, but we are happy that they are happy with who they did find. It's good.

The other part to this story is that the night before the funeral I decided to bake a cake for the reception that would follow. After much thought I chose one of the Dolce Italiano cakes that we had all loved, the Zucchini Olive Oil cake. Here is a picture from the spring baking:

The funny part is that after the service and reception, and then home, I called our son Matt to wish him a happy birthday. While we were talking, his very pregant sister arrived at his door with a birthday cake. Yes, she had baked the same cake from the book I had given her last year, and I think it was her first recipe from Dolce Italiano.

A few hours later, she went into labor and my February 6 post became, well, as you know. So her last nesting effort was a cake I had also made, and we did not know either of us was baking that day. Perhaps this will become the family recipe to end pregnancies, perhaps not. I am not a spiritual person, but since my grandfather died a few days after our son was born, I would like to think that almost 30 years later, our new grandson and Grandma Shorty shared a high five as they passed each other on the way. There is some karma to that thought.