Baking with memories of Mother

I stared at the thick and shiny dark brown mixture waiting patiently for it to boil. As I watched it, I was tempted to turn my head away because my mother had always told me, “A watched pot never boils!” There is a lot of truth to that saying. When we are anticipating something to happen, most of the time, we have to wait. I have learned a lot about patience this year.

I patiently continued to stir the chocolate icing until I saw a bubble slowly make its way from the very bottom of the pot only to explode upon reaching the surface. First one, then a couple and, before I knew it, the bubbles were popping like corn kernels do over an open flame. “It won’t be long now,” I said to myself, eyeing the candy thermometer to ensure the molten chocolate had reached the “soft ball” stage.

I am never closer to my mother than when I bake her signature chocolate cake. For years and years, she baked cake after cake and, in the process, became somewhat famous among her friends. For their birthdays, everyone waited with anticipation for one of her cakes. Mother was always more than happy to oblige.

When my mother died, I was able to keep some of the actual pans, measuring cups and utensils she used when baking. I still use them today. In fact, I just finished baking a cake for a birthday present of a dear and beloved friend. I think that is why this cake baking process makes me feel close to my mother. Not only am I using the things she used when she baked, I am continuing her legacy of giving “homemade” gifts. She would be so happy!

When I greased each cake pan with some shortening on a paper towel, I noticed the patina that all the years had left on them. Etched into the metal, I could see the evidence that constant use always leaves behind. When I held the edge of each pan in my hand, I felt like Mother was standing behind me. I even glanced over my shoulder to ask her a question but, to my disappointment, she was not there.

Why is it that “things” have the power to survive when loved ones can’t? I contemplate this concept quite often. In my mind, I can see my mother greasing the exact same pans, but now I stand here with those exact pans while she has been gone for so many years.

The Tupperware bowl I inherited that Mother used almost daily would have been tossed away years ago by most people. It has so many indentions on the bottom where the beaters have left their mark; you can actually feel the roughness when you touch them. The top rim of the bowl has a large gap missing where mother accidentally put the bowl on the bottom level of the dishwasher. There in the extreme heat while drying, it melted against the rack.

I can even remember when it happened. Mother was annoyed at herself but unwilling to discard the bowl.

Every time I use it, I run my finger across the plastic blemish. Just doing so makes me smile!

I even have the cooling racks she placed her cake layers on. A couple of them have sprung a rung here and there, but they do exactly what they were designed to do years ago when she bought them. They still allow the cake layers to cool. Why should I purchase new ones when the ones she left me still do their jobs? New ones may perform a little better but sadly they don’t come with any memories.

Every time I reach for her bright orange Tupperware measuring cups that stack neatly within each other, I can still see where she stored them in her kitchen. They live with me now and I use them whenever I need to measure something. A cup is still a cup, but “vintage” orange Tupperware is pretty rare these days.

Like a tray that is prepared for a surgeon, I gather all of mother’s utensils when I start to bake. It is a process I enjoy, like preparing to go for a visit with a loved one. I suppose if we can’t keep our family and friends forever, then we really are fortunate to possess the actual things they once loved and used. My mother’s belongings serve as reminders to me of her life and the things she enjoyed.

“Mark, the timer just went off. You might want to check the temperature of your icing,” my mother used to say to me. “You certainly don’t want to overcook it or it will become too hard and you won’t be able to spread it!” Her voice is still so clear to me that I look around to tell her I have it under control.

Speaking of spreading, I still have the spreader she used to ice each and every one of her cakes. I’m holding it in my hand. The same wooden handle she held. It feels good to me — a perfect fit! I start to ice my cake. Again I smile. She is still here with me in spirit! I’m continuing to spread the love the way she did and am lucky enough to be using her things to do it. What a gift!

More with Mark

— See Mark at the Junior League of Macon’s Market Place from Friday through Sunday at the Macon Coliseum. Mark will introduce his new Santa plate and T-shirts called “All Spruced Up!” He will conduct seminars from noon–1:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday and from noon-1 p.m Sunday.

— Mark is coming to the Cottages of Woodland Terrace in Milledgeville from 10:30 a.m.-noon Tuesday. Free. For more information, call (478) 414 1234.

— Mark will be appearing at the “Pink Picnic,” sponsored by Houston Healthcare, at 11:30 a.m. Oct. 28 at the Museum of Aviation at Robins Air Force Base. Tickets are $10. For information, call (478) 923-9771.

— Check out Mark’s website, www.markballard.com, for current projects, recipes and lots of other fun stuff and Mark’s T-shirts, prints, cards and his collectible porcelain plates.

— Mark is on www.macon.com 24 hours a day. Videos, columns and articles are featured.

Mark Ballard’s column runs each week in The Telegraph. Send your questions or comments to P.O. Box 4232, Macon, GA 31208; fax them to (478) 474-4930; call (478) 757-6877; e-mail to markballard@cox.net; or become part of Mark’s fan page on Facebook.