When I stumbled upon an old index card for Compromise Cake, yellowed with time and filled with handwritten notes, my first thought was whether my mother ever made it. If she did, did she ever indulge in a slice? The woman I knew was fiercely steadfast in her ways. By the time I entered the picture as the fourth child, this cake was absent from her limited baking repertoire. After my parents divorced, she seemed to abandon her efforts to maintain connections with others, distancing herself from neighbors, childhood friends, relatives, and even her own children.
Perhaps it was these old friends and acquaintances who withdrew from her, too focused on judging a woman grappling with mental illness and divorce, as if such struggles were contagious and should never be discussed. My mother’s palpable anger and sorrow over her circumstances likely didn’t help others view her with compassion, further isolating her as a divorced mother of four, labeled as mentally unstable. The only formal diagnosis I ever overheard was “burned-out schizophrenic,” mentioned by a medical professional and never explained to us directly. One day, she simply became known as “crazy,” and that was the end of it.
At school, my friends assumed she was merely depressed. By junior high, she had transformed into the kind of mom who welcomed the neighborhood kids seeking solace from stricter parents. She wasn’t the type to supply alcohol, believing it better to avoid teenage drinking altogether, but when it came to experimenting with drugs, it felt like we were on the same wavelength. She supported my artistic pursuits without hesitation, even when I turned the television screen into my canvas with crayons during the occasional all-night teenage parties.
I was too young to comprehend who ended the relationship first—my mother or the world. Eventually, the once sociable young bride became a sometimes volatile and detached figure, unwavering in her opinions, including her cake choices.
Compromise is seen by some as an essential aspect of life and an organizing principle of society, while others refuse to acknowledge the term or engage in it. Most frequently, she baked Devil’s Food cake topped with chocolate buttercream, which sat on the sideboard, hardening over time. My teenage sister was too focused on her diet to consider cake, while my brother distrusted the ingredients in our mother’s homemade treats, preferring store-bought. I spent the most time with her, trying to understand her sadness, always tempted by the cake. Despite my siblings’ teasing nicknames—Chubby, Chubbo, Pudge-o, and Thunder Thighs—I was only slightly above the ideal weight for my age. Compared to my peers in dance class, I was actually quite slender.
Upon discovering the recipe card for Compromise Cake, I reflected on how innocuous the word once was in mid-20th century America, yet how fraught it now feels in today’s divided society. Some see compromise as foundational to civilization, while others vehemently reject the notion. Recently, I even penned a letter to the president, empathizing with his struggle for bipartisan cooperation. I whimsically suggested he serve Compromise Cake at an upcoming meeting aimed at bridging the growing political divide—perhaps waiting until after a few slices were enjoyed before revealing its name. I never received a reply, and the committee ultimately fell short of its objectives.
The card bore the name Eleanore Greene, the recipe’s creator. I have no idea if she was part of my mother’s social circle in Burlingame, a supporter from her time teaching in a rural school, or a neighbor from Castro Valley. If she was like many from her era, I suspect she intended nothing but goodwill when she paired the word compromise with cake.
In a world where understanding and connection often seem elusive, the simple act of baking could remind us of the importance of finding common ground.
For more insights into the complexities of parenting and relationships, check out our guide on home insemination kits and discover valuable information on speech therapy as well as excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination on MedlinePlus.
Summary: This excerpt delves into the author’s reflections on her mother’s struggles with mental illness and divorce, revealing the challenges of familial relationships. It highlights a recipe for “Compromise Cake” as a metaphor for the complexities of life and the importance of seeking understanding amidst adversity.