After walking by the lake & tall hills by Gougane Barra this afternoon, I came home to a cake.
A cake deserves a photograph, or a painting – especially when it’s as magnificent as this one.
Especially when it’s handmade by someone who’s dearer to me than the confection is sweet.
She spent a goodly proportion of the day in the supermarket & kitchen – and cleaned up after herself – which I have often not done.
I had half an eye on England v Belgium when she visited my sofa, and asked if I would really like a candle for every year of what I call my maturity.
I almost took pity on her.
“Of course I’d love that.”
And so it was that when my two sons, two daughters-in-law, three grandchildren & two dogs joined us in the kitchen (via Zoom), there were candles lit.
Imagine trying to light that number of short candles on top of this cake. Imagine three of us with flaming matches, and melting wax trickling on to the icing.
Etched into memory, never to be forgotten until my memory muscle has grown too limp to last.
Joy, fun & glee. How fortunate I am to have such company to love.