When I was a kid grandma used to make what us cousins called Grandma’s special cake. To us it was a recipe unique to grandma and we always looked forward to the times when she would make it. Always for brandings, usually for community events, sometimes just for us to enjoy.

You can imagine my horror when I moved to Québec and there was a bakery there that sold Grandma’s special cake. The horror grew when my cousin’s husband was delighted because it was his aunt’s special cake.

Yesterday my cousin texted me to remind me that she’d made a dessert for my parents and I’d forgotten to pick it up at school. She finished with I have three words for you

Grandmas

Special

Cake

Well. I didn’t have to be reminded again.

Last night my mom and I split the cake. They kept some and we took some. Today at lunch Jenna and I dove into it. As I was eating I thought about the generations who have enjoyed this cake. We were sitting in the house my great grandparents built eating it, my parents were in the house my grandparents built and my mom grew up in eating it. 5 generations of family sharing love from that cake and the memories attached to it. Because not only is it yum yummy, but every bite has a fun childhood memory attached to it.

As I was getting ready to put it away I saw another cousin walking down from the barn after a ride. I went out and shared the last piece of our cake with her. The delight on her face was totally worth it. Cake love. Family cake. My happiness moment for the day.