Cinnamon Roll Cake!

Yes, since you’ve all been so good about not making note of little inconsistencies in these trying times … other than that original Bad Girl, Miss Snarky Pants, http://paltrymeanderings.com, who for whatever ungodly excuse has yet to tag me in a new post of her own … we’re running a Sunday Bonus.  Kim made this cake yesterday before the KU/Iowa State game and its gooey buttery brown-sugary goodness gave both of us reason to go on after our team’s unfortunate loss.  You in turn are guaranteed to need this recipe before March Madness ends, and I know you’re thanking me: CinnRollCake Cake: 3 c. flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1 c. sugar
4 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 c. milk
2 eggs
2 tsp. vanilla
1/2 c. butter, melted

Topping:
1 c. butter, softened
1 c. brown sugar
2 Tbsp. flour
1 Tbsp. cinnamon

Directions: Mix the CAKE ingredients together except for the butter. Slowly stir in the melted butter and pour into a greased 9×13 pan. For the TOPPING, mix all the ingredients together until well combined. Drop evenly over the batter and swirl with a knife. Bake at 350 for 28-32 minutes.

Glaze:
2 c. powdered sugar
enough milk to make a runny glaze, about 6 or 7 tablespoons
1 tsp. vanilla

Drizzle glaze over cake after letting it cool slightly. Top with vanilla bean ice cream and try not to weep at first bite.

{And although the luscious photo up top looks similar to the Honey-Bun Cake Recipe that’s been enjoying a decent run here … not the same, not the same.  Two cakes, each fabulous in its own right.}

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Today’s drama on As the Eye Turns …

March-HD-Wallpaper-500x313

March — it’s what time DOES.  Snow fell all day yesterday and the ground is white, but spring is, even as we speak, gathering up little robins and crocii and dandelions, wheee, and it will all be showing up here any minute now!

The passage of time is so very relative, and that effect seems to be accentuated when your brain is on the fritz.  The day of the initial biopsy my surgeon said, “If it’s malignant we’ll do an excision, and if necessary a skin graft ….. you’ll come back in five to six weeks, we’ll remove the stitches, and you should be good to go.”  Crap, what did I know from what he actually said, I don’t hear for beans!

The day before my six-week check-up we figured out that I’d misunderstood parts of the process, but it was not yet clear just how delusional I was.  And then the appointment took all of ten minutes, not counting iPad time in the waiting room.  I’m not complaining, let the record show, my doctor and his assistants are lovely people who excel at what they do and I adore them.  But it was quickly apparent that no stitch-release stuff would be happening at that present time.  Ninety-degree turn in the Expectations Hallway.

THE GOOD NEWS:  The graft site is healing beautifully and we’re right on schedule (the correct one). After the next six weeks there’s an appointment to see how much longer the graft needs to cure.  I was indeed self-deluded, but now I know and all is well. Most important, this is neither fatal nor permanent. And life goes on.

So it’s at least a year-long process to reach total healing — I have friends who will deal with health issues for life.  One lost an eye at age two … and I’m whining about stitches holding an eyelid down for a few months.

NOTE TO SELF:  You are not allowed, for the duration, to apologize for looking demented, not to anybody, even if you happen to bump into President Obama on Mass Street next week.  {Sorry, deal’s off for the president.}  But you’ll get to walk away from this at some point, maybe even by summer, and that’s almost not even fair.  Your friends who’ve had to actually give up body parts are hoping nobody notices, too, and they don’t get a pass, so own your I’ve-been-drunk-for-a-week eye and live your life.

So yeah, “March is the month that God designed to show those who don’t drink what a hangover is like.”  –Garrison Keillor

ENJOY!

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Yes. Most emphatically still here.

Anyone between 40 and 65+ gets this — once it starts you’ll do everything cheap and painless to make it stop.  And by it of course I mean aging.  I squandered at least 25 years’-worth of primo brain cells cursing every line, gray hair, and extra pound — “STOP!  STOP IT!!  STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!!!  GIVE ME SOME TIME TO MENTALLY PREPARE!!  {Interweave creative language of your choosing.}”

Over the years it’s inexplicably gotten more challenging to match up the two realities:  I don’t feel any older in my psyche, I’m in fact regressing and there are those who own evidence to prove it, but my exterior road map is relentlessly becoming more detailed, my once-blonde/brown/henna-ish hair has at long last come out of the closet as its own true amazing silver, and my late-life-acquired supplemental mass is stubborn and sneaky so I’ve decided to own it for warmth, comfort, and familiarity.

The rush in all of this is that it doesn’t feel like I’m giving up.  I only have to adapt to the kindergartener around my waist until winter’s over — it’s cruelly cold outside — and then I’m thinking I’ll work on it again.  Or … you know ….. just possibly not, really, not in any stressed-out sort of way.  Because even though my lines and veins are more visible now, I’ve survived to a point where this body’s pretty freaking okay for its years and experiences.  And I’m in love with my shiny silver hair that Shelby at the barbershop cuts for $10+tip and gives it a life of its own so that I might have 99 problems but my hair isn’t ever one of them.  (If I wanted to pull senior rank on her she’d cut it for $5 and probably say about her tip “Oh honey, that’s fine, go buy a coffee or something.”  But WTF, are you kidding?!  Baby Jesus, don’t ever let me get THAT kind of old!)  So anyway how truly awful could it be to haul around more pounds than my body was designed for?  Oh, wait … right … wasn’t taking the whole Life & Death thing into account.  So … you know … erroneous THERE, but …

Well, so I’m going with two out of three unless or until I can change, but meanwhile that tiresome head-voice has gone strangely silent.  After all those years of fighting my body … okay, it was a half-hearted effort at best … she and I are starting to feel like real friends.  Not like, hey I forgive you for being such a biotch and embarrassing me … just … hey … no forgivey-stuff required, I’m you and you’re me and we like each other fine and this feels good.  And wow, hey, look at all the options that just opened up!

“Having work done” was never part of my bucket list, and after having my face sliced and stitched up last month I can tell you that there’s no way I’d do it voluntarily just because things weren’t close enough to perfect.  The twelve women in the slideshow linked here are some of my best role models — I hope you’ll revel in their happy stories!

http://www.purpleclover.com/entertainment/3543-12-stars-say-no-to-plastic-surgery/

I love this woman like Kanye loves Kanye!

JamieLee

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