Fast Fault Recovery
One of my children made a math error. They cooked and ate more than their "fair share" of the cinnamon rolls Mrs ERJ had staged for Christmas morning.
Seeking to avoid Armageddon, I quickly whipped up a coffee cake.
In my youth
In my youth a shared cup of coffee was a celebration and a ceremony. Not quite geisha girls serving tea...but close. Victories were savored. Losses were mourned. Stories were told. Intelligence was shared.
Coffee cake was a broad shouldered dessert. Rarely "excellent" but always better than adequate. Anybody with Bisquick, sugar, butter, and cinnamon could turn out a serviceable coffee cake in twenty minutes. It was in our DNA.
Now coffee is a metabolic and economic necessity. Ceremony? No way. Just put it in my IV.
I asked Belladonna if she had tried any of my coffee cake.
"Nope." she said.
I cut a sliver, put it on a plate and carried it over to her. She took a bite and a strange expression came over her face.
"It doesn't taste like coffee!?!?"
And just like "that" I felt ancient. How could she have made it to 17 without my ever having made her coffee cake?