Let
me just tell you about the worst day of my life. Well maybe not the worst, but
it is definitely up there. You see I
made a bet with this kid, Jason, in my government class about who could get a
better grade on our next test. This was
definitely the last time I made a bet about grades with the salutatorian of our
school. My punishment for losing this
bet by a mere 2 points was to make him a cake.
Not just any cake, a Pikachu cake.
It was going to be epic.
I
love decorating cakes. I jump on every opportunity
to make cakes for my friends, family, birthdays and holidays. My interest really sparked when my grandma
died and my mom took home all of her old cake decorating tools. My grandma used to make beautiful cakes.
While she was a teacher in primary she always baked birthday cakes for her
kids, and made wedding cakes for several brides in the ward. I started
experimenting with all the different tools and learned I have a knack for
piping. I still use the same tips my
grandma used to decorate her cakes.
Using
these tips, I started designing Jason’s Pikachu cake.The cake was quickly
transforming into the familiar Pikachu found on every little boy’s playing
cards. Yellow skin, black anima eyes, the smiling, warm face, bright, rosy
cheeks and the big tail in the back. I even got the red and white stripes of
the ball that Pikachu pops out of on the sides of the cake. Although my hands
were throbbing after five tedious hours of piping Pikachu to life, the pile of
ingredients had turned into a masterpiece.
It was perfect. Now all I had to do was
deliver it. Dragging my sister along with me, she held the cake while I drove
the 20 minute drive in the blazing California sun to Jason’s work. Driving as
cautiously as I could, I slowed at every twist and turn desperately praying for
Pikachu’s safety. At that point I didn’t
care how many enemies I made on the road as long as I got the cake to Jason
safe and...
SPLAT!
My
heart dropped; my eyes were holding back tears. Dreadfully, I looking over at
my sister's lap; cracks forming in every direction, the two layers and the
chocolate mouse filling were completely separated. Pikachu was dead. Hours of hard labor and all that was left to
show for it was a pile of crumbled cake and a melted slosh of multicolored frosting.
Dragging
my feet, I walked back into my house with the remains. My mom immediately came to my rescue as she
wrapped her arms around me in that way only moms can. She said if she was still alive, my grandma
would know how to fix it; some of her cakes went wrong too. My grandma, the same one who made the most
elegant of wedding cakes with tiers of intricate roses and lace hanging in
beautifully constructed patterns made for that happy couple’s special day, she
had disasters too. I thought she was
invincible; her cakes were always so perfect. But, no; she had walked the same
steps I had walked that day. She knew exactly how I felt. Even though my grandma is gone, I felt a lot
closer to her that day. These tips are
not just cake decorating tools, but are a way I can keep hold of my grandma and
our passion for cake decorating.
What makes an object important? Why
do we keep some things forever, but do not mind throwing others away? The Uncommon Life of the Common Object, addresses
the question, “What gives ordinary objects their value? It is because of their story. It is what they represent and make us
remember. In the reading, Busch talks
about his children and how they would always play with this magic box. Countless hours were spent figuring out and
mastering the quarter disappearing trick.
Trying to come up with my object and narrative, I kept thinking back to
my childhood, and the things I thought were important back then. I began to remember going over to my
grandma’s house all the time. She would
always have new clothes for all the kids, and was the best cook alive; she made
the best pot roast and gravy. The house always smelt so good. After remembering all of this I still did not
have an object. I then thought back to
middle school and reading The Diary of
Anne Frank in class. This simple diary was not just about a teenage girl
during the Holocaust. It represents the
millions of Jews and their horrifying experiences during that time as well. This book is held so dear to many because of
their experiences or the experiences of those that came before them. We feel we can become closer to these Jews
because we can hear their story. I immediately
thought about my cake decorating tips and the relationship I had with my
grandma that the tips represented. I
could tell my cake disaster story, but really show how I felt a lot closer to
my grandma that day. Although these are
just any old decorating tips you can buy at any local Joanne’s or Michaels,
mine mean much more. I feel like I am
carrying on some family tradition or talent that I hope one day pass on to my
children.
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