Sometimes I like to play make-believe in my head. I admit it’s a fairly childish bit of behavior for a 33-year-old but I can’t seem to stop no matter how hard I try. My argument: In some cases make-believe has brought me much needed levity or great joy or most importantly (and what’s more adult than this?) closure.
A week ago today I got into a fight with a new neighbor. Well, it was not as much a fight (no fisticuffs to speak of) as him scolding me in brisk tones while I tried to get a word in edgewise. But boy-oh-boy did it feel like a fight! I’ll spare you the details but just tell you that it ended with my reaching out to shake his hand and him turning his back on me while walking away muttering to himself.
Now I completely understand that sometimes one might just find themselves in a sour mood; I know I do. And who knows what he was dealing with in his life? Frankly, I’m willing, because I’m sort of generally cheery, to give the guy the benefit of the doubt and think he was just having a bad day and I got in the way. But all week this fight really stuck with me and made me feel like I needed to bake! Remember how I told you that I bake when I’m “mad, glad, sad?” Yes, it was brilliant. I was mad and all I needed to do was bake. I needed to bake this guy a cake and take it straight over to his house.
Heads-up: Here is where the make-believe begins.
I had already decided not to tell my friends of my plan. After telling them the story of being scolded by this guy I knew they would not approve of my edible olive branch (just because they love me and don’t want me spending time thinking about this fight). So I told them instead that I was going to take the afternoon to bake a cake for some deserving friends and all the while secretly schemed up what sort of package I would put together for my neighbor. I would use one of my bakery boxes but would I use the red and white bakery string that I loved so dearly or would I lean toward decadence and add a bit of bright-colored grosgrain ribbon? Would I write a note apologizing for my mistake that day and leave the cake at his doorstep or would I ring his bell and stand there with the cake in my hands and a big smile?
I took my time and made one of my Cake-In-The-House Yellow Cakes (sorry pals but to get the recipe for this one you have to look in Volume Seven of Lines & Shapes) treasuring each and every step. It had to be special and well-made after all it was my chance to win back my neighbor.
While making the cake I decided I was going to ring his doorbell and I knew just what he would say when I handed him my sweet homemade gesture. Well thank you so much my dear. I truly am sorry for the way I behaved that day we met in the rain. My dog had just died and I was under a terrible weight of sadness. He would invite me in for tea and we would laugh about the whole thing. In my head our time together was a little something like this. And when I left he would firmly shake my hand and say, see you again soon, dear neighbor.
: : :
Truth be told, I did spend the week sort of chuffed by the fight. And as a form of therapy I did bake my Cake-In-The-House Yellow Cake … and take half straight over to the aforementioned deserving friends. The other half went in two parts: one to another good friend and one to myself. So all in all it took a bit of baking and make-believe and I felt much better afterward and that cake was damn good too. My neighbor doesn’t know what he’s missing!
—MAV
10 April 09
This post was originally shown with this piece by Stephanie and this diptych.