Today, on my 49th birthday, I find myself reflecting on the memories that have shaped my life. While I don't usually receive many gifts, your comments and shared stories would mean the world to me and add joy to this special day.
As a child, my birthdays were a time of great anticipation—not for the presents, which were usually modest compared to Christmas, but for Mama's cakes. Baking was her passion, and while the house often smelled of her favorite pecan or walnut treats during holidays, my birthday cake was something special.
Growing up, I was accustomed to Mama's delightful yellow and chocolate cakes. Occasionally, we'd have carrot cake, and in the mid-1980s, Mama began experimenting with an applesauce spice cake that had a delicious glaze-like icing. She would bake it weekly to keep on the counter for us to snack on. However, my sister and I stopped eating it after what we humorously called "the time Mama tried to kill Granny." Long story short, Granny was visiting us and had a piece of Mama's spice cake. Within minutes, Daddy was driving her to the hospital. Though the cake had nothing to do with it, we couldn't get over the incident. Despite that, Mama's cakes were generally unforgettable.
Mama had an uncanny ability to remember and cherish the little things we liked, and this was especially true for my birthday cakes. Around 1979 or 1980, when we lived in the little yellow house on Easter Lane in Mobile, Alabama, Mama baked a coconut cake for our Easter gathering at Granny's house. Easter celebrations were a feast, with Dad and my uncles manning the grill, rocking out chicken, burgers, steak and whatever else they brought from the grocery store, or hunting trips. Granny and Aunt Joan preparing side dishes, like fried okra, fried squash and onions, purple hulled peas, lima beans, cornbread and all of their specialities. A then there was my Mama contributing desserts and her famous deviled eggs, potato salad, rich with onions, hardboiled eggs, mustard, and bell peppers.
But it was that coconut cake that stole the show for me. My four-year-old self boldly declared it the best cake I'd ever had, a proclamation that Mama took to heart. From that year forward, my birthday cake was always a coconut cake. For the first few years, it was great but later on, I never had the heart to tell her I might have enjoyed a bit of variety; her love and care baked into each cake made every birthday special.
As I grew older, I realized Mama had a baker's talent that could have rivaled any professional. Her cakes, pies, and confections were family treasures. Recently, my sister sent me a trove of Mama's recipes—handwritten index cards and printed sheets that spanned decades, some even from her high school home economics class. Flipping through a recent Magnolia magazine by Joanna Gaines, I was surprised and delighted to find Mama's peanut butter cookie recipe featured on a page, a testament to her enduring culinary legacy. I had no idea Mama knew Joanna Gaines but apparently she did.
Today, on my 49th birthday, I can't help but reflect on those coconut cakes and the love they represented. While I've yet to find Mama's exact recipe, I've come close with the Duncan Hines Dolly Parton Coconut Cake Mix. I suspect Mama's version might have come from the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, the one with the red plaid cover, eventually I will get around to finding out. I know her Thanksgiving and Christmas dressing is pretty close to what's in that book, as well as her lasagne.
I never imagined reaching 50—thought I'd check out in my late 20s—but here I am, still rocking along. As I celebrate today, memories of Mama's coconut cakes bring warmth and sweetness to my heart.
Thank you for letting me share this cherished memory with you. If it inspired a touch of nostalgia or a bit of joy, that's gift enough for me. 🎂💖
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