Making my brother's wedding cake.

At long last, the project of making the cake for my brother's wedding is FINALLY accomplished and behind me. Here's the full story:

Not long after my brother proposed to his now-wife, he asked me if I would be willing to make the wedding cake. He knew I had taken a couple of Wilton cake decorating classes and had been impressed with the cakes I had made for the final projects.

With a bit of apprehension, I accepted. I knew it would be a HUGE, huge challenge, and I knew it would likely be almost an overwhelming task, but... I love my brother, and his wife is an amazing, sweet person -- I love them both to death, and I wanted to make them happy on their wedding day. I approached the project as I would any other art project, so I think that made it easier for me to deal with.

I started the process a few weeks prior to the wedding date. Fortunately, icing keeps well in the freezer, so I made all of that ahead of time.

Over the next couple of weeks, I bought the ingredients and equipment I needed, but had to wait to do the bulk of the work (like the actual baking, etc.)

I struggled for awhile with the design. I knew that the bride-to-be wanted Funfetti cake, but other than that, the entire concept of the cake was totally open. Fortunately, the cake stand I bought helped me to narrow down what I wanted to do.

Finally, on the Thursday before the wedding (which was on Saturday, July 11th), I decided on the final design and I bought the accessories I needed.

I started baking on Thursday night, and while the cakes were in the oven, I worked to assemble the accessories -- the beaded garlands that would circle the perimeters of the cakes.

I finished baking early on Friday, then worked late, late, LATE into the wee hours getting all the cakes filled, frosted, and covered with fondant. I didn't finish up til about 5 a.m.

The next morning before the wedding, I had to transport the blank cakes, the stand, and all the accessories to the reception hall, to finish assembling it. Once there, I arranged the cakes on the stand, hand-painted the metallic swirl designs (the "paint" is made of edible glitter powder mixed with vanilla flavoring), then added the ribbons and garlands to the base; then I affixed the bride & groom to the cake.

THEN, I ran the hell to the bathroom, got changed, and hurried along to the wedding -- I made it there JUST in time!

The wedding was beautiful, and as we headed to the reception, I felt relieved that I could finally relax. However -- I was worried that the cake wouldn't taste good, despite all the work I put into it -- but it turned out to be delicious, and got universal rave reviews. Most importantly, it made my brother and his wife happy, and that is the biggest and best compliment I could have received.

Making this cake was stressful, tiring, aggravating, nerve-wracking... and totally, totally worth it.

Slideshow of all the cake photos:

(If you cannot see the embedded slideshow, click here for a direct link.)

RIP, Great-Uncle Bill

A couple of days ago, my mother told me that my great-uncle Bill (her father's brother) had passed away on New Year's (eve or day, I'm not sure which). He was pretty old (92, I think) and it sounds like he just died of old age. I was not close to him, but I still felt a twinge of sadness...

A couple of summers ago, I spent a few days in Maine, and he was kind enough to let my roommate & me stay overnight in one of the little cottages behind his house. She and I spent some time with him while we were there, just talking and keeping him company. I hadn't seen him since I was a kid, probably. Despite his age, he was very alert; his mind still sharp as a tack.

Hearing of his death made me feel a little nostalgic, so I dug up photos from that vacation; sadly, I don't have any pictures of him.

The cottage we stayed in


The Maine Diner, where we've eaten several times over the years


Statue & flowers in front of a photographer's studio in Kennebunkport


Rainbow at Drakes Island Beach


Setting sun at Drakes Island


Nubble Lighthouse in York

See the rest of the photoset here.

I'm sorry, Dad.

Father's Day and all that shit, yadda yadda.

Today (or rather, yesterday, technically) I went to go see my dad, something I rarely do.

I always feel a bit of dread whenever I have to pay a visit to anyone from that side of the family, because I'm not close to them at all. Whenever I spend time with my father or grandmother, it always feels a somewhat awkward. I often don't know what to say and I sometimes struggle to make conversation. I am my father's only child, so I don't have any siblings to go with me to visit him. And, he lives alone, now that my grandmother is in a nursing home.

So anyway. I was dropped off at his house today, and when I arrived I felt guilty immediately because I showed up later than I said I would. He'd had a few beers and was a little tipsy and that made me a bit nervous, but we started chatting about whatever and I tried to just keep the mood lighthearted. But staying cheerful is difficult, because whenever I see him, or even simply talk to him on the phone, all I sense in him is this tired, sad, beaten man. Today was no exception.



I try not to think about it too much, and the way I deal with it is by avoiding contact with him.

I don't hate or dislike him, of course, I just don't know how to deal with it. We aren't open and communicative with each other; not the way I am with my mother's side of the family. So I don't really feel comfortable talking about feelings with him.




During my visit today, we chatted about general things as we walked around the backyard. He showed me some of the gardening he's done lately, etc, etc... Just sort of small talk, really; the kind of conversation you could have with someone you'd just met or didn't know well. It was a bit boring, but nothing unbearable.

At some point in our conversation, he asked me if I was still without a car, which I confirmed, and I said that since I was getting rides to work and didn't go much of anywhere else anyway, I wasn't in any rush to get a new one; I'd take my time and save up.

To my total surprise, he offered to give me his old white car, an '88 LeBaron, which has been sitting in his driveway for years. I didn't think it even ran anymore, but he takes care of his cars pretty well, and he said with a new battery, it should be in decent shape. It'll be good enough for me to get to work and back, and to run errands, and all that, anyway. I accepted, of course. It's very similar to my first car, an '85 LeBaron (which I loved), and it will be a bit surreal for me to own it; I have memories of riding around with him in that car when I was still just a kid.

The rest of my visit with him was about the same as all the other times I've spent with him in the past few years; we bitched about work, talked about our cats, talked about my grandmother, and that's about it. Around 7:30, my roommate came to pick me up; I had asked her to bring the cake I had made from cake class because I wanted to show him and give him a piece of it. He had a piece of cake and the three of us shot the shit for a little while longer and then my roommate & I left.

It had been a pretty decent time, but I was relieved to get out of there.



In the past few years I have come to realize that the isolation I feel from other people, the tendency to be reclusive, the hopelessness, the deep and sometimes inexplicable sadness, the bitterness, the sense of feeling broken... all that, I inherited from my father. And every time I visit him, it becomes more and more apparent. And it makes me really, really sad to see it in him because I am helpless to really do anything about it. For him, or for me.


It was 2 in the morning and I went downstairs to make myself a bagel and I thought about how my father offered me the car and suddenly everything just hit me and I started crying and have continued to off and on since then, and it's 3:40 now.




When I was little and my parents were divorced, I was so young (just a baby, really) that it didn't have any emotional impact on me. I saw my father regularly, at least once a week; and my mom and dad were civil to each other so I don't have any bad memories of it. My dad was fun and funny, and I had great times with him as a kid, but I never really connected with him on a deeper level the way I did with my mom or brothers or even my stepdad. My father just isn't that kind of person. It's not his fault, of course; it's just the way he was raised.

As I got older, and busy with my own life, I saw him less and less. Most of the time I was, and am, too preoccupied to think about it much, but there are times I acutely miss being that little kid from so many years ago, and I miss the younger, cheerier man he was then. Maybe we weren't emotionally close, but my time spent with him was happy. Now, it's just usually depressing and I have to suppress the feeling of muffled yet overwhelming hopelessness whenever I see him.

I don't want to watch him age and become more and more bitter and sad and used up and alone. Not only because he is my father and I care about him, but also because I don't want to become like he has, either (although I am already more than partway up that path).




If I were feeling this way about my mother, I could call her up or visit her and talk to her about it and cry with her and it would be okay. The sadness would subside and I'd get over it.

But I can't do that with my father. He and I both sit alone behind closed doors on opposite sides of a chasm that is infinite. I know we love each other, but we will never, ever share a deep connection in this life and there's nothing I can do to change that. I can never return to the days of being that carefree child in the passenger seat of his car and that's just the way it is.



And I usually don't think too much about that, but tonight it has consumed me with guilt and grief.