Misty Watercolor Memories...

Time, it seems, gives the events of the past a lovely, golden glow. The memories of childhood become romanticized. We start to believe that there was never a better time. Never did we have better friends, we slept the sleep of the just and laughed our way through every ding-dong day. We somehow manage to take that which was, at best, mundane and, at worst, icky-poo-poo, then turn it to perfection.

And so it is with The Easy Bake Oven.

I was never one who was blessed with this childhood toy. Probably for the best given that I was not the most graceful of children. I pretty much left a trail of smoke and shattered glass in my wake. A device that cooks using a lightbulb could be dangerous in my little hands. But I could dream. I envied those lucky girls who found one under the tree on Christmas morn. In my mind's eye, I saw them donning starched white aprons and hosting fabulous parties featuring teeny little cakes and cookies. They were the height of sophistication and style. I seem to recall partaking of one or two of these microscopic baked goods and finding them to be no less delightful than the very nectar of the gods.

I'm just sayin' that it is possible I have one or two false memories from childhood.

Last night I was privileged to dine at Chez CamMad. I gussied myself up and wore my new Bead for Life bracelet. Mom C. took care of the general entertaining and child wrangling while Dad C. whipped up a meal worthy of kings. (individual chicken pot pies...yummy!) The nieces-by-proxy played their roles as "centers of attention" to perfection and Auntie Sheepie felt like the most honored guest to ever cross the threshold. The highlight of this event was to be a dessert baked by niece-by-proxy #1 who, as the eldest, was gifted with the latest version of the Easy Bake Oven and was quite excited by the prospect of baking for company. During the pre-dinner playtime festivities, she frequently had to excuse herself (along with Mom C./baking supervisor) to attend to kitchen duties. This left me to the not-so-tender mercies of niece-by- proxy #2 who, excited by the presence of Auntie Sheepie, showed her affection by launching herself bodily at the aforementioned Auntie at speeds approaching that of light or sound.

After dinner, nbp #1 and Mom cut the cake. It had been agreed earlier that this treat was to be split between baker and guest of honor. As I was assessing the condition of my spleen following a particularly enthusiastic airborne assault from the very happy nbp #2, I heard from the vicinity of the kitchen, "Um, Auntie Annie...would you, maybe...um, like a cookie to go with your um...cake?" Then: "Hey, Dad...you know what might be nice? Maybe Auntie would be willing to have a smaller piece so that we can, um...share?"

Even with mild to moderate internal injuries going on, the subtext was fairly easy to catch.

The little cake was divided accordingly and we all partook. It was not exactly what I remembered from my childhood days. It was one of those moments where you dig deep into your reserves of social graces, call upon your love for a child and think about how expensive long term therapy might be for a little girl who really wants you to enjoy her first attempts at baking. You smile. You rub your tummy. You make "yummy" noises. You compliment her on the unique flavor and texture of her cake. In short...you eat it.

Besides a reality check on childhood memories, toddler induced internal bleeding and a renewed appreciation for my so-very-quiet house, I took home some leftovers for lunch and this neat little item:

A "Yarntainer!"

Dad C. is in charge of much of the holiday shopping at the CamMad household and thought this might be a good gift for Auntie Sheepie. Mom C. agreed. The nieces-by-proxy were also impressed and nbp #1 wrote the tag her very own self: To Anny. And I'm here to tellya that it is a truly handy little yarn dispenser.

But the best part, by far, was a quick little conversation that I think went unnoticed by Mom and Dad. I had just presented my feet to the group in order that I might show off my new handknit socks. Little nbp #1/resident baker said, "you made those?" I confirmed that I did, in fact, do just that. She looked again, a bit more closely this time and said:

"Hmm...they look real!"

Seriously. I'd eat a million Easy Bake cakes for that little girl.

SA