Muskeg Daily Creek. Dateline: Before the next one......
Chapter 5
The Muskeg Bake Sale .
“OK kids, keep out of the kitchen, your Mother is baking”. I only had to say it once. The kids scurried off to their rooms and were quiet as mice, for they knew just what a performance this would turn into.
Marjorie was in the kitchen preparing for the Church bake sale, something that seems to happen with greater frequency each year. I am wiser from past experience and kept out of the way.
Some time had passed. I was dosing in the recliner when I heard Marj scream. Should I go, in case something fatal had happened, or should I stay? Maybe I should have stayed in the living room, from the swearing coming from the kitchen, there was no doubt Marj was still alive.
I ventured to her inner sanctum. Marj stood with her apron covered in flour her hair just as white, holding a Victoria sponge. “Just look at that” she screeched, “Just look at that, it has fallen in the middle. There is no way I can take that to the sale. Betty's always rise”. I tendered a suggestion that if she filled the crevice with icing and flattened the top, all would be well. This was not received in the spirit given. Some folks, can take criticism and recognise a good idea when it is presented. Not Marg. I did manage to exit just before the cake hit the wall.
The kids had gone to bed without saying goodnight to their Mother. It was in the early hours of Saturday morning, When Marg cheerfully called from the kitchen. “Darling, would you like a cup of tea?”. When my senses came to me and I realised I was not dreaming.
“Yes please” I answered, and made my way to the kitchen where I allowed only my head to appear around the door jamb. The sink and all flat surfaces had dirty pots, pans and baking trays. Every utensil had been used. Marj smiled and her eyes beckoned me to look upon the pine dinning table. The extra leaves had been extended to display an array of cakes, dainties, muffins and cookies, enough to feed the 5000. Each doily-covered plate carefully laid out like a piece of art.
Marj was up early the next morning. All the dishes had been washed and put away long before I went down for breakfast. The kids wanted to try some of her baking, but Marj would not have her fine display disturbed. “Just get some Cornflakes, or toast. Maybe you can have some later” Marj snapped. Each plate had been covered in Saran Wrap. Refusing our offer of assistance, Marj set about taking them to the car, two at a time, ensuring none were displaced, and all were kept horizontal for the trip to the Church Hall. Marj left an hour early in order to claim poll position for her table. What was once fun had now turned into a fearless competition.
The kids and I took a trip to the store armed with the shopping list to replenish the larder with all the ingredients Marj had used. Twenty pounds of flour, four-dozen eggs, raisins, doilies, butter; the list was endless and proved to be bulky and expensive. So much so that when asked at the checkout if I would like Carry Out Service, I agreed. Exhausted, we treated ourselves to drinks and pastries at a local café.
When the kids and I arrived at the Bake Sale, there were only a few customers, mostly just the Ladies Circle, nattering across the tables and complimenting each other on a fine display. “Oh Marg,” Betty enthused with great insincerity; “I just adore your Hungarian Nut Balls.” The kids sniggered, and went to try Betty's sponge cake. Marj felt obliged to return a compliment - “Betty, your sponge always rises, they are so light and fluffy.” I sniggered, thinking of the one that flew across our kitchen.
The Bake Sale was drawing to a close when the Chairperson for the Ladies Committee stood on a table to make a speech. Jemima Crocker, a crusty woman with a bun in the oven and about to give birth at anytime, thanked all that had spent much time in making this Bake Sale a success. After presenting the Smart Cookie of the Month award, (a 2lb FruitCake) she announced that today had been a record breaker, and the sum of money raised far exceeded any other sale. A gasp went around the hall; smiles of smug satisfaction grew on the faces of the bakers, who gave themselves a round of applause for their own hard work. The general public, well, the few that came, had long departed.
I looked around wondering how they could have made a record amount of money when it looked to me like the tables were still as full as when we had arrived. Marj began packing plate upon plate of cookies and cakes, into boxes - not being as careful as she was when leaving home. This time we were permitted to assist in the task, and eat any we wished. The kids were getting irritable and none of us wanted anything to eat, just to get home and do our own thing.
Marj laid out the cakes on our dining table. It proved to be the same amount as she had baked, but none of the dainties were hers. Marj had bought these from other members of the Bake sale; they in turn had purchased hers.
It is difficult is understand the mentality behind these efforts. First: baking most of the night, depleting the cupboard of supplies, and then having to restock the larder. Second to sell and buy from fellow cooks, returning home with too much food, very little of which we like or will eat. This will be given to the kids in our street who, by five o'clock, will be queuing up at our door for their share.
Ignoring the time factor and electricity, we have purchased items three times over, for something we neither want nor will eat. It would be far easier, less stressful and just as profitable if the Church had a Coffee morning and had a minimum donation charge. So why does Marj do this? Why do we put up with this regular fiasco? Simply because Marj LOVES TO BAKE.
