Remembering the local traditions from days of yore. That neighbourhood bakery churning out fresh butter cream cakes with garish, kitschy jam and cream embellishment. Saving pocket money for the little indulgences. Sharing with baby sis. Sticky creamy fingers. Arguing over who has the larger chunk. Then here comes the doggy, wanting a share.
Baby sis scoured the heartland shops to locate this bit of nostalgia just for me, on my birthday last week. Sweetness all round. Bizcuit stood in as the doggy, puffy tail wagging and eyeing the cake on dining table. But we are now old. And it didn’t taste the same as before. The cake was not moist enough, and the butter cream was boring. They are no longer 25 cents per piece, either. Oh, and she bought five of them, no need to argue about size or volume. Much has changed … yet, the delight remains.
Memories are made of these. ❤ Feeling mentally and physically exhausted, but emotionally blessed.