Sunday Dinner: Hilda and the Magic Cake

There are always some defining moments of our lives. Some more important moments than others. Magic Cake... Magic Cake isn't just about cake, but it's about a life lesson about secrets, really, and sometimes how those secrets are best kept just that. Secret.

Everyone has asked me to explain the title of this blog, so I thought I'd introduce you to my great aunt Hilda Anna Rowena Deevers (that's her on the right) and her mother, my great grandma, Mamie Hett Deevers...  aka Grandma Deevers.  Grandma Deevers was a remarkable woman herself, and she raised four daughters as a widow through the great depression (more on that another day).  Her daughters: Hilda, Cleo, Trinette and my own grandma, Mary, were all an integral part of my growing up.

I was spectacularly blessed to have known all of these remarkable women for a very long portion of my life. Grandma Deevers passed away when I was 22 - and she was just a few months shy of her 98th birthday, and Hilda passed away in 2011, at the age of 98.  My aunt Trinette passed away in the early 1990's, and my own grandma passed away 11 years ago now. My great aunt Cleo is the last of these lovely ladies, now in her 90's, and she is a hoot, and several posts all to herself! This longevity and these relationships are probably a goodly portion of why I am so fond of senior citizens today.

Aunt Hilda was responsible for the "Magic Cake" portion of this blog.  I'll tell about the "Lima Beans" portion another day, but about that cake... 

Although they lived several hours north of me, we made frequent trips "home" to visit the family - which included my grandma and grandpa (my father's parents) and Grandma Deevers and Hilda (Hilda never married, and lived at home with her mother her whole life). Cleo lived in New Orleans back then, and Trinette was in Illinois.   On Sundays we went to Grandma Deever's house for lunch (or, as my family calls it "Sunday Dinner"). 

Sunday was a comforting ritual. Grandpa went to church. Dad and mom slept in and my brother and I would get up and watch cartoons or whatever while grandma made us breakfast - eggs and bacon. Gravy and biscuits. Along about noon we would all hop in the car and drive across town to Grandma Deever's house. (This took about 7 minutes... it's a small town).  Grandpa would be there already, sitting in the chair reading the paper and listening to the cardinals baseball game. The house was always very aromatic as dinner was all but done by then. Grandma Deevers and Hilda would be putting finishing touches on our lunch. When we were very small, mom would read us books, or take us outside to run around and explore.  Sometimes we got to go into the back garden with Hilda and pick tomatoes to go with dinner, or some other goodies for the salads. From the time I could reach, it was my job to mash the potatoes for dinner. I had a little stool that I stood on to get to the top of the counter. Hilda would drain the boiled potatoes and pour the milk and add the butter, and get it started for me, and then I would stand there and smoosh and smoosh and smoosh potatoes as hard as I could with the hand masher.  It was quite a workout but I loved my little job. Hilda would come by now and then to check my progress, add a dash of salt or a tad of milk, and check on my lumps.  During dinner my grandpa would always tell me how my potatoes rated that week.  Lumpy ("Better eat some more wheaties, Tish!") or sometimes I had to confess to having some extra help when Hilda mashed them a bit more for me and they were smoother. 

Meals were always quite structured for our little German family. Sunday dinners always had a small salad, a meat, a potato (baked or mashed - almost always mashed at Grandma Deevers house), a fresh vegetable, always a plate of sandwich bread with butter on the table, a plate of pickles, and always a dessert. Like most folks, growing up we didn't get dessert all the time at home. It was hit or miss and that was a-ok. It was just normal. Sometimes there was a goodie. Sometimes there wasn't.  But at Grandma Deevers and Hilda's house for Sunday dinner that was always something we could count on. There was ***always*** dessert - which made my brother and me quite happy, naturally. It was always a big deal for us kids sitting at the table practically bouncing with excitement waiting to see what sort of goodie that Hilda had made just for us.

My favorite was what I called the Magic Cake.  Or, at least I called it that to myself. In hindsight I don't guess I ever told anyone else my name for it until I was a good deal older. It was a scrumptious white cake with spectacular tiny bursts of color in it.  Red. Blue. Green. Yellow.  Nobody else I knew had ever made that kind of cake - ever - and as I started learning to cook, and made cakes myself, I was amazed even more at how she got those colors in there. (I started cooking simple dinners for my family when I was in 7th grade.)

I saw less and less of them over time and I guess I'm the only one who noticed because after quite some time with no Magic Cake, one day when I was probably a teenager I was visiting and I asked Hilda what was for dessert that day in anticipation of finally having magic cake again. I don't really even remember what she said we were having, but I do remember my disappointment when it wasn't magic cake so I asked her how come she never made the Magic Cake anymore.

She looked at me kind of funny and said "What magic cake, Tish?"

"You know, the one with all the pretty colored polka dot thingies inside it!!"

Folks. This is the day my bubble burst. This was the day I learned that sometimes... sometimes it's just best not to find out the secrets of life.

Hilda looked at me and said "Why that's just an ole white box cake with some sprinkles inside it, Tish!!!"

:-|

Wha?  Wait... Wha?!!!

I know all of my readers saw that one coming from a mile away but back then... back then that was a game changer for me.  Literally no one I knew had ever made that cake but Hilda. I'd spent my whole life believing it, and she, were quite literally magic.