Darla and Peter’s wedding cake was a job (a thrill!) awarded to me a few weeks ago. Yesterday when I had taken the second of Peter’s gluten-free vanilla layers out of the oven, a fuse blew, there was a large fire – contained, thankfully, in the oven, and I swatted at it with the oven mitt before grabbing the fire extenguisher. Ever notice how even if you’ve read the directions on the side of the extenguisher numerous times – perhaps seasonally, like a school fire drill, you STILL have no bloody idea what in the world to do once fire actually breaks out.
I calmed myself, resigned that the oven was toast and there was no hope of finishing the other six half-layers at my house, then ran next door to Walter and Yim’s. Walter is my landlord – I’ve written about him some before, but in addition to having survived Ravensbruck concentration camp as a youth, he has achieved a long-spanning career as an oil painter and holds two PhDs. Whenever I have a problem, he’s typically who I call.
The Meyers were having a quiet evening at home and kindly let me Kramer in and out with cake pans of varying sizes throughout the evening. Let me tell you that it got done, only thanks to these wonderful neighbors. And how delicious Yim’s mushroom soup tasted after long hours of baking.
The Meyers save the day!
The point, friends, is that without community, we are nothing. I have respect for those who choose a life of solitude and rugged individualism, but having tried it for a time, I know it’s not for me. People need people. Babs said it, and I’m agreeing. We’re the luckiest people in the world.
