My mother made this chocolate cake filled with whipped cream every Christmas that I can remember. As children, everyone wanted the end piece because it had the most frosting........now we consider it too rich. After she lost her faculties either Mike or I would make it for what family was available, and now we each make one in our separate places. Over the phone we compare our successes or failures, depending on how much the cake cracks as we roll it up. This year mine was almost perfect, and I discovered a secret to keep it together. I'm not sure I will share it. Thelma enters the tradition in the form of the oval platter I always put it on. She made it herself as part of a set of ceramic dishes she designed, molded, painted, and fired herself. They were sold all over New England in gift shops as symbols of the Maine wild blueberry.
In awhile I will be going to have Christmas dinner with Thom, David, Sydney, and Richard. It's the traditional group. I have the feeling it will be the last we all have together, though at this stage of life it's expected, even accepted, that everything ends. I'm not sad exactly, but it does make one appreciate the present.
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