Instead, Dwell on Cake

I spent some time with my brother tonight. I saw Rick's obituary photo on his fridge. I saw the Christmas card from Rick and me on there too. I smiled. We talked about work stuff. Nothing sad. It was for the best.

I came home to my cats and took a shower. In the shower, I cried. I ended up on my knees, slamming my hands into the sides of the shower wall, crying tears that mixed with the hot water. The switch of emotions is devastatingly shocking at times. Grief is a strange, strange beast.

When I got out of the shower, I felt lighter, as though I had already poured all my grief into the void the way I do on my blog at night. Like a little chime in my head, I heard Rick say, "Then post something funny tonight."

So I will.

I found this excerpt from an old blog post from 2010.

Rick has written "vanilla cake?" on the store list (complete with a question mark).

Arielle questions this.

Rick (with a thoughtful look on his face): "Well, I was thinking...since you're going to be going to grad school, I thought I should learn how to make cakes."

Apparently I make him so many cakes and now won't be around enough to provide for his needs.

So he bought ingredients, he asked me some questions, and when I came home from my mom's on Sunday, a two-layer frosted cake was sitting beautifully on a glass cake pedestal in the middle of the kitchen counter.

Very humorous. But very impressive for a man.

He totaled up the ingredients and decided that with oil, eggs, frosting, etc. it had only cost him about $3 to make his own cake, therefore he plans to do this on a regular basis instead of buying a cake if he wants one.

My husband is HILARIOUS. I love him.



He may be dead. But my husband is hilarious. I love him.