Now that the cookbook is almost ready to be sent to the printers (again), I’ve been eyeing my memoir as my next project. Although I dread diving deeply into the memories of those days, the ones concentrated with grief, part of me is excited to revise and finally be done with it.
Lately I’ve been simply reading it to help turn my wheels and jog my memory. Today I found a section where I talked about decorating his birthday cake on the day we had his ceremonies. It was our last stop of the day. First there was his funeral at Jacksonville High School. Then, we had his graveside service at the veterans cemetery. Finally, we ended up at the fire station where we would sing him a song. The day before the first day of the rest of my life when all the hoopla would be done. The day before the quiet days when everyone else went home.
Once in awhile I will share small clips of my memoir. Today, I share part of what was once in Chapter Eight which I will rewrite:
I made my way into the kitchen to decorate the two cakes I made for him that morning. I kept the frosting cooled in a freezer bag during our long day. I stood on the other side of the kitchen bar from my friend, Jackie, and clipped the triangular corner off with scissors. I squeezed half the bag on each cake, and evened it out with the offset frosting knife Roger bought me years ago. I don’t know if I wrote “happy birthday” or his name. I looked up and saw my whole day and life in my friend’s blue eyes, and that is where my memories end that day. I thought I was shattered, but the next few months told me I still had more to break.