Who knew that a dozen strawberry cupcakes would lead me down a somewhat enlightening path? For those of you who know me, you know that the kitchen is the last place I'd be. I'm what you say, the one who can't stand the heat and most definitely stays out of the kitchen. I can already see the Arabs shaking their heads in dissatisfaction at this disability of mine. Sigh - I will never be a perfect wife - wait, scratch that - I will never be able to be a wife. Period. I get it. I accept it. And I prefer it. I mean who wants to marry someone who bases my worth on how I compare to Rachel Ray ... or even worse, HIS MOTHER!
Nonetheless, it was a mere few years ago, thanks to a stressful incident I found myself in the kitchen. I never liked it, but I found myself there often in the sidelines watching my mother dish out her own magic. It never intrigued but I enjoyed sharing moments with her and doing the basics - table setting, stirring, butter melting. But when I was home alone for almost four weeks I craved sweets that were unique and tasty - nothing from an instant mix box. Those were always taboo in the household and I gladly agreed to that policy. Making things from scratch was a tradition to keep alive.
So I pondered my sweet tooth cravings in search of a new flavor - no more chocolate, vanilla or lemon. I considered everything and anything to get my mind off the current drama when I was taken back to my friend's 8th birthday party.
Nervously I walked into her house, my mother pushing me in behind. Something about her house, her family, scared me and I remember the water that filled my eyes as my mother waved goodbye. Every other child dashed past her mother and straight into the jumping castle blown up in the backyard. But not me. I sat back and observed, watched the loud scream filled laughter. The tiny start of cat fights. The diva litter bugs who threw out items from their goody bags one by one like flower girls at a wedding. Then came the call, "Cake time!" Suddenly a tornado of pink and turquoise and orange migrated across the yard and back towards me - inside the house.
Because I was already in, I received the honor of front row seats to watching the infamous "wish upon the candles" ceremony and the cutting of the first slice. And I'll never forget the cake that took my eight-year-old breath away. It came in almost a slow motion manner. A pink and rigid ring of beauty. Above it lay the most unique candles I have ever seen. On each tiny hill of that bundt cake sat a colorful plastic animal candle. Every animal was connected to each other by a plastic rope that linked to a large blue umbrella that covered the entire cake, making it a mock carousel. A perfect carnival at my fingertips.
I received the third slice (the first and second going to the birthday girl and her sister) and I found that the taste was just as magical as its appearance. And that magic remained with me for many more years after. So I drove Google crazy trying to find a strawberry cake that did not involve an insta-mix ingredient, until finally I found a few that I merged and modified in the perfect recipe. And so the mission began. It started with eggs, sugar, butter, mixing bowls, strawberries, and much more. Although the anticipation of the results was enticing, being in the kitchen was still a torturous procedure. The plus side was washing those dishes. Yeah, call me for those anytime!
I found that I fell in love with these creations, first from the aroma, and then from the taste. So I decided to capitalize and kill two birds with one stone: (1) share it with the world and (2) help promote my book with them. It's a well known fact that people are magnetized to to food. Just add the word "Refreshments" to any invitation and watch the world magically appear. So every chance I got to place a booth for my cupcakes, I suffered long hours in the kitchen. One person told me not to just hand them out for free, but rather charge a decent price so that I make somewhat of a gain. I chose a simple twenty-five cents ... a mere quarter. And that's when I met the cheapest of people.
Okay, so I get it, people don't want to pay $20 (actually $19.91) for a hardback poetry book that cost a lot more to make (financially and emotionally). But a quarter, a damn quarter, for a decent sized cupcake with high class frosting and sprinkles? That was too much? It made me laugh since I knew half, if not 75% were people addicted to Newport Beach's Sprinkles Cupcakery. I let it go the first four times. But the fifth time I was invited to a college campus in the O.C. to sell my books and I thought that if I didn't at least sell a good number of books (pretending that students like to read ... ha!) I'd sell out on cupcakes. I made 75 and came back with 60. Five I solicited for sale. Ten no longer fit in the cartons (because I used one for something else during the event) and so I handed them out to the gentlemen that helped me load and unload my books and cupcakes. I refused to offer any to those people who shriveled their faces in a frown when they read the matching pink sign that read "Strawberry Cupcakes - 25 cents." But there was one guy there that absolutely made my day.
So let me retract my statement then - I sold four solicited desperate cupcakes and one joyous accomplishment. See, to make something and believe in it only to watch it fall apart before your eyes is hard. And time after time, event after event, it's been like that for my poetry book. The people I expected to be first in line on the release date never showed...till today. But I'll leave that topic for another time (maybe). Respect and support are rare qualities to find today. But to see friends or fellow community members snarl at a measly quarter was disappointing. I mean no offense, I wasn't in some third world country asking for sales. I was in the O.C. The O.C.! You know the county with its own show? Where most of these attendees drove up in their pimped up Lexus or Mercedes or BMW?
Anyway, amidst this disappointment this guy appeared as the silver lining to that cloudy day. He was somewhere in his early 20's wearing his ragged jeans, white t-shirt, and red and blue beanie. He approached my pink and red table with a smile that grew even more when he read the sign. A quick glance at my book before he said, "I'll have a cupcake please," and easily pulled out a quarter from his jeans pocket and placed it gently on the table. I smiled with excitement at the refreshing change and was amazed at how much it boosted my mood. I got him a cupcake ready and perfected and handed it over. He thanked me and walked away. Even his thank you felt like it carried more weight than typical thank you's do.
I turned around and began packing realizing that he may just be the only refreshing wave of good for the day when I noticed him walking back towards my table, holding his half bitten cupcake. Panic filled me as I worried that he found a bug or a hair (although I baked in my scarf that day) or if he hated it. I stood up nervously and tried to keep a smile on my face when I said, "Hey?" He swallowed the remaining cupcake bit in his mouth before he said, "I just wanted to let you know ... [eternally feeling pause] ... that this is the BEST cupcake I have ever had in my life!" I didn't think he could do it, but he did. He brought yet another wave of relief to me that day - and that one was a tsunami that just washed away the crap of all the rest (especially the ones from those I knew so well). I couldn't help the big smile and laugh that came from me as I thanked him for those words that were worth much more than a quarter. I wanted to give him another cupcake and crown him Cupcake King and I found myself regretting not doing the first option when I dragged home 60 perfectly pink cupcakes.
Okay, so it appears over the top, possibly a dramatic touch crowning him the king, and go ahead call me emotional or sensitive, whatever it may be, but the magical touch of a kind word exceeds everything else - especially on a day like that. It's rare to find someone these days to understand the weight words carry - good or bad - and this college student showed class that the Mercedes Benz driver couldn't demonstrate.
It doesn't hurt to start empathizing - and if you can't attain that - sympathy doesn't kill either!
