I knew from the six-inch label riddled with artificial ingredients that this was a bad idea.  It was anyone’s guess that muddled amongst the additives and preservatives was an egg or two, even if from an extremely non-organic hen.  Still, my daughter’s 10-year old birthday celebration eagerly awaited and according to her it could not be commemorated without our local grocery’s mammoth sheet cake spray painted with tiny glorious images of Zach Efron and his High School Musical entourage.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bake you a cake?” I begged, knowing, in the back of my head that I must be supportive of whatever her wants and needs are and be flexible at this significant time, because after all it was her birthday.

I watched her lanky body standing next to me and duly noted that she was on …Read on

Many, many years ago a young child with tossled blond hair witnessed the true species of fatherhood. A much-used door that led from the ever-popular kitchen (where oh such delicious scents traveled from one of Mother’s many spectacular culinary concoctions) broke. The handle, over years of steady usage, became looser and looser until finally, under the strain of yet one more attempt to open, gave out and fell, leaving a small circular gap in its place. The young child with tossled blond hair was aghast. What would become of this traveled passage? Would it be forever sealed? Would this fabulous oak door that had so sturdily shielded one atmosphere (the warm comforts of an understood kitchen) from a less inviting one (the shady, dusty hallway that led to dark storage rooms musty with years …Read on