Wacky Girl made a delicious homemade coconut cake yesterday, in honor of Dear Granny. We didn’t use her recipe though, we made a Starlight Yellow Cake, instead. WG knows how to use the mixer now, she’s happy. Is already asking for a Kitchen Aid. She stirred in coconut, and we frosted it by breaking apart a big Hershey’s bar, and pressing the pieces onto the cake while it was still warm. The pieces didn’t melt fast enough, so we popped it back into the cooling oven for a couple of minutes. Success — and it tasted like a Mounds bar.

That’s how my Dear Granny used to frost cakes. In either a froth of raw egg whites, or by pressing a Hershey’s Kiss onto an oversized cupcake, or by lining up rows of chocolate squares on a still-warm cake. It’s more of a glaze, really. It’s perfect, and no need for powdered sugar.

Until earlier this evening, when I was googling Wacky Mommy Needs (needs cake, clearly) I was not aware that there is such a creation as a Wacky Cake. Did you know that? Did you know that children like it?

Wacky Cake II

Servings: 12

“Children like this cake.”

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups white sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon distilled white vinegar

2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 cup water
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup milk

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease one 9 inch square pan.
2. Sift together the flour, 1 cup of the sugar, 1/4 cup of the cocoa, the soda, and the salt. Stir in the vinegar, oil, water, and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat until smooth. Pour batter into the prepared pan.
3. Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 30 to 35 minutes. Let cake cool. Then spread chocolate icing over top.
4. To Make Chocolate Icing: Combine 1 cup of the sugar, 1/4 cup of the cocoa, the milk, and the butter or margarine. Boil for 1 minute. Stir in 1 teaspoon vanilla and continue stirring until partially cool. Spread over cake.

Here is the best recipe — my Dear Granny would make this every year for my birthday:

COCONUT CAKE
First get a coconut from the store. (Don’t buy one unless you can shake it and hear the milk inside.) Take scissors or a screwdriver. There are three little eyes at the end of the coconut. Make a hole in it with the scissors or screwdriver. Make a hole and drain the milk out.

Then hit it with a hammer and get the shell off. Take a knife, gouge down in there and get all the pieces of coconut and get them out of the shell. Get all the brown off. You can grate it — that’s how Mama used to do it, but it’s hard on your fingers. I run it through the blender — that flakes the coconut up. Or if you got a food processor you can run it through that. Then I add a couple of tablespoons of sugar on the coconut to sweeten it up.

(You can freeze the coconut, too — it freezes well.)

Then, get a Betty Crocker white cake mix. For the liquid in there — I think it calls for milk — use part coconut milk. Save part of the coconut milk for the frosting. Use egg whites, not whole eggs, or else you’ll have a yellow cake.

You put the oven on 350 degrees. Put your cake in there to bake. It takes about 35 minutes or something like that. It will tell you on the box.

You take one of your pans, a small one, you put a cup of sugar, and pour some coconut milk over the sugar. Cook it until you put a spoon in there and it will kind of clump. Then you have three egg whites, beaten pretty stiff, in the mixer. Turn the mixer on high. As it’s mixing, pour the sugar and coconut milk mixture over the egg whites. It should be pretty thick by then.

Ice your cake with that, then sprinkle coconut all over the top of the cake. That’s it.

(love you, Grandma. nancy)

“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.”

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

from the Wikipedia page:

“Coleridge claimed that the poem was inspired by an opium-induced dream (implicit in the poem’s subtitle A Vision in a Dream) but that the composition was interrupted by a person from Porlock. Some have speculated that the vivid imagery of the poem stems from a waking hallucination, most likely opium-induced. Additionally a quotation from William Bartram[1] is believed to have been a source of the poem. There is widespread speculation on the poem’s meaning, some suggesting the author is merely portraying his vision while others insist on a theme or purpose. Others believe it is a poem stressing the beauty of creation, and some read sexual allusions throughout.

Inspiration for this poem also comes from Marco Polo’s description of Shangdu and Kublai Khan from his book Il Milione, which was included in Samuel Purchas’ Pilgrimage, Vol. XI, 231.”

I had a nightmare last night that my Grandma was in Purgatory. She was sitting in a chair, alone, dressed nicely, her make-up on. We talked for a second, but she was distracted. Wouldn’t make eye contact. It’s not what I imagined Purgatory to look like — it was more like a train station. Cold. Sterile. She seemed steady, but a little nervous. Ready to be on her way. I woke up scared and ice cold. This has been harder than I thought it would be. I’m doing what I always do when I lose someone — I’m pretending she’s still here.

The neighbor’s big tree came partially down this weekend — dropped a branch in their driveway, and another branch (and most of the tree’s canopy) in our side yard. It filled up our side yard, with all the foliage. Couldn’t get to front gate or through yard because of it.

We had the strangest storm — it came on fast and dark, tons of rain and hail. All of the pink blossoms from the cherry and plum trees, swirling around like snow. Then it got darker and trees and limbs started falling. Thank God the kids weren’t outside when it happened — we had just been outside a little earlier. Also thank God it didn’t crash through the windows, smash through the roof, do more damage to the fence than it did. (Only a few boards damaged.) I heard a huge riiiiiiiiiiip, creeeeeeeeak, and then crash. It was too scary. I think it was my grandma, raging.

wm

my cousin just called a little bit ago, Nancy this is the call.

my Grandma is gone.

“Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Pet peeve: When someone says, I’m only playing devil’s advocate, only they are screaming it at you and not taking time to even attempt to hear where you’re coming from. No, you’re not “pretending” to give me someone else’s opinion, as some cat-and-mouse “devil’s advocate” thing (more…)

What is up over here, you ask? Too, too, too much.

* I’m dancing. The Mii me is, that is. Wii Fit is really fun, y’all weren’t kidding.
* Also enjoying the hula hoopin’
* I think this is Portland’s longest season ever for the cherry and plum blossoms on the trees. Usually the rain knocks them down straightaway, but they’ve had a good run this year.
* I keep opening my e-mail, Facebook and Twitter hoping… what, exactly? That someone will have left me a plate of appetizers or something? It’s not like that, it’s the computer. Facebook is giving me eyestrain.
* What I would have on the platter, were a platter of appetizers to suddenly appear: phyllo pastry with melted cheese, like at Alexis Greek Restaurant; roasted asparagus; meatballs; carrots, celery sticks and grape tomatoes, with some of the kooky dip my cousin K makes — you know what it is? BBQ sauce mixed with Thousand Island. I kid you not. It is delicious; also… a variety of olives; fresh, cut-up fruit — pineapple, cherries, strawberries (to dip in chocolate and powdered sugar)
* Yes, I had dinner. I’m just staying up too late and getting hungry again.
* This is why I need to go to bed earlier.
* I’m not writing about any family stuff. I do not want to bum you out, Internets. Just light a candle for us is what I’m requesting. Thank you.
* Also not writing about Internet Drama. The Internet Drama can kiss my foot.
* Doesn’t the ocean sound nice? I’d like to be at the ocean right now.
* I don’t like the Wii Fit game where you balance on the tightrope, that is scary to me. But the others are all fun.
* We just watched more hockey — Anaheim Ducks took their series (over San Jose Sharks); Chicago (go!) beat Calgary.
* What is new with you?

wm, out.

Yeah, we’re watching a lot of play-off games over here for the Stanley Cup. Swear to God if the Rangers don’t win this game (they’re down now — score is 5-2, Washington, in the last four minutes of the third period aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Dubi, Dubi, Dubi… And their coach is in the frickin’ penalty box for the whole game)… (why? you ask? Why is their coach in the penalty box — not even box. Room. He’s in the penalty room — well. Because a fan spit on the bench personnel and went all homophobic, and the coach squirted water in his face. Then threw a water bottle at him or something, so what? If someone is being all homophobic and spitting at you, don’t you have the right to throw something at them? Especially if it’s a corn dog, or a water bottle? I would say so.)

Hockey God, happy as hell: “You don’t see that in basketball. They don’t even carry sticks in basketball.” (Yeah, we’re watching the Blazers later, Rip City guys, c’mon…)

Anyway. Final score: Washington Capitals, 5, Rangers 3. Harsh toke of a game. See ya for game 7. (Edited at 9 p.m. to say — another harsh toke. My Blazers lost.)

My Pens wrapped it up yesterday, though, so I’m happy about that. Here are my two favoritest ads from the season…

“As Dorothy Zbornak, Arthur seemed as caustic and domineering as Maude. She was unconcerned about the similarity of the two roles. ‘Look — I’m 5-feet-9, I have a deep voice and I have a way with a line,’ she told an interviewer. ‘What can I do about it? I can’t stay home waiting for something different. I think it’s a total waste of energy worrying about typecasting.'”

— quoted in The New York Times, 4/25/09

Do you need a simple quote, in honor of Earth Day? Sure, why not.

“Live simply that others may simply live.” — Elizabeth Seaton

Ahhhhh… There. Don’t you feel better?

Seriously, I wanted to do something Important and Significant for Earth Day, but you know where I found myself? Driving the kids to school (“God, don’t make us walk, please no…” actually — wait. I think Hockey God drove them. Who knows. Do you really care? Me neither), then driving myself to class, because the train makes me sick to my stomach and want to die. (Busses — same. Boats — same. Airplanes — same. If I’m driving I’m mostly not carsick.) I was early for class because, you know. I DROVE. When you drive YOU USUALLY GET THERE EARLY OR ON TIME, IT’S MAGIC. So I went to Starbucks and got a shaken/frozen Arnold Palmer (lemonade/black tea) and then I made a list:

What Has Changed at Portland State University in the Last Twenty Years

by

Me, the Girl Who Graduated from University Twenty Years Ago Next Month. Well, in June. Whatever.

1) Starbucks. We didn’t have that before. But we didn’t need it cuz we had…

2) Strong coffee at Mother’s Deli, where someone once left a note in the Suggestions box saying, “The girls here should wear bra’s.” hahaha.

3) There is no more Mother’s Deli, which is too bad. We used to all sit there together every morning and have tea, practice our German, our Spanish, our French, our pick-up lines. It was nice. One of the guys used to bring tea strainers and loose tea from home, then we’d talk the girls behind the counter into giving us cups of hot water. Cheap. And sociable. And there was that good hiding place to study up above — the crow’s nest? Goodbye to Mother’s Deli.

4) Now that I think of it, I wrote a v. negative review of Mother’s for the student paper, senior year, because they glammed it up with track lighting and got rid of the comfy couches and started serving quiche or something. I guess I said goodbye to Mother’s at that point.

5) Out back of Mother’s was the Beach, a rolling expanse of green, green grass where you could sprawl and visit and drink beers that you’d bought at Montgomery Market, which I’m sure is no longer there. (I swear, I really did go to class. Mostly.) Now you can’t do that cuz the Beach is gone. There is a field with astro-turf and a list of rules: No Cleats, No Dogs, No Beverages, No Food. No, no, no. No more Beach. Goodbye, Beach.

6) Whispering in class: Out. Texting in class: In. Eating a yogurt quietly: Out. Bringing in a g.d. picnic, spreading it out on your tiny little desk and noshing away while the prof attempts to lecture: In. (Damn. That is just icky. Grab a bite between classes, why don’t ya?)

7) PSU ran TV commercials of a very perky Mary Kadderly, who is now a well-known Portland jazz vocalist and teacher, and soooooooo pretty (Hi, Mary!). I believe in the ad she was in a helicopter that landed on the roof of Smith Memorial Center? (C’mon, someone, refresh my memory.) And she delivered the line: “Portland State is my University and the city is my campus!” We all thought that was simply delightful! Such an urban school, what with the panhandlers and the flashers and the sex crimes.

When we were pulling all-nighters, or hungover and ditching class, or stomping cockroaches in the Ondine (student housing), we’d be all, “The CITY is my CAMPUS!”

A visitor also wrote a letter to the Vanguard, freaking out about how out of control the campus was, deeply offended. “WHERE ARE THE MONITORS?” So that quote got blown up, xeroxed, and plastered all over the buildings. Funny. I still ask myself that question sometimes. Publicists plastered the campus with pictures of the “Ghostbusters” ghost, in the spring before the movie came out. That little guy was All. Over. The Campus. He was a better mascot than the Viking, I thought.

8) The Ione Plaza, where the retirees lived (not in the Roach Hotel Ondine, where the stinky football players and punk rockers lived)… well. That was the best place to drink, cuz they had a retro firepit right in the middle of the room, and the skeezy diner attached. The skeezy diner where they made the best damn cheeseburgers. Except that time I got one that tasted like it had been marinated in bourbon. That was  a lil weird. Bar: Still there. But no longer retro — it’s alt now. Diner: Gone. Now it’s an Italian cafe. Puccini’s? Something. Goodbye, good drinks, good atmosphere and good burgers. See ya later.

9) The Simon Benson House used to be a few blocks west. Now it’s right smack-dab on campus. It had been turned into a rooming house — I had friends who lived there. They did not have $$$ to renovate, obviously. They got so sick of all of the, Isn’t it a shame? comments that they put signs in the windows: CAREFUL! OLD FALLING DOWN HOUSE ZONE and A REAL FIXER-UPPER!!! So, those of you who busted your asses to save the house, move it, restore it, love it? Thanks for taking the signs seriously.

10)How about… Older, crotchety students who take Higher Education Very Seriously and Pine for the Past?: Well. That was the norm twenty years ago — the average age of a PSU student at that time was 27. “Commuter college.” I had peers who were in the 80s, auditing classes. They kicked my ass, I’m serious. I remember one gentleman who wrote his term papers and handed them in two weeks ahead of deadline, politely asking the profs, “If you have time, maybe you could give it a read and give me some comments?”

I remember the profs, not always, but sometimes, being a little disdainful of the auditors. I thought that was uncalled for. The 80-somethings were the only ones paying attention and asking questions. No trust-fund babies, there. (Me, neither. I worked 1, 2 and 3 jobs at a time to put myself through school, with a little bit of help from my mom and Social Security.) (Which was sliced, slashed and filleted by Ronnie Raygun, our former president. Thanks, sweetie. My late father thanks you, too. I also had to start college spring of my senior year of high school, in order to continue to qualify for my benefits. I was luckier than my younger sister — she got nuthin’.) (Can you imagine a world now, where we encouraged people to go to school and gave them support? Where it wasn’t dog-eat-dog you better get your MBA if you can afford it, you loser. Survival of the fittest. Etc.)

Everything I learned about respecting my elders I learned at PSU. Every reason why I hated my elders I learned from Ronald Reagan.

Hmm. Even though the average age at PSU now appears, to my tired eyes, to be Quite Young (12), the older students? We’re still there.

Only it’s me paying attention this time.

Ha ha ha, suckers. I’ll get that master’s degree, even if it takes me ’til I’m eighty and auditing.