Former Senator Zell Miller

“How could this great land of plenty produce too few people in the last 30 years? Here is the brutal truth that no one dares to mention: We’re too few because too many of our babies have been killed. Over 45 million since Roe v. Wade in 1973. If those 45 million children had lived, today they would be defending our country, they would be filling our jobs, they would be paying into Social Security. Still, we watch as 3,700 babies are killed every single day in America. It is unbelievable that a nation under God would allow this.” —former Senator Zell Miller

THE CAKE

THE CAKE
OR
RITA’S OVERSIZED TONGUE TWISTING CHOCOLATE CAKE
PILED HIGH WITH CHOCOLATE FUDGE ICING SWIRLED
HIGH ALL AROUND

I’m a pie lover by profession, and not much of a cake eater. BUT a cake built with chocolate inside, outside and all around, with a glass of milk on the side, is ranked on the top of my list. This story about The Chocolate Cake of a lifetime is on going, I hope.

It started in the early Fall of 2000 at a picnic given by and for the Ridge Runners, a local club of senior hikers here at Smith Mountain Lake, sponsored by The Newcomers Club. I was volunteered chef that year by My Honey, to grill the burgers and hotdogs. The picnic was a little like a church potluck with each member bringing an interesting dish. The hikers hiked while the cookers cooked. After the meal was over, the watermelons were cut, and the desserts were uncovered, I saw my first Rita miracle.

There it was open for public view in its oversized glass covered cake dish fresh out of its own cooler. Rita’s chocolate cake was the biggest, tallest and the most beautiful chocolate cake I have ever seen. I was one of the first to taste it and it tasted even better than it looked. That was the beginning of a love affair in my elder years with Rita’s Chocolate Cake.

I realized what my Honey says about me was correct. I will scheme, lie, cheat, and steal when it comes to excellent chocolate cake. When the cleanup started and there were unclaimed cut pieces of that chocolate cake left on desert plates, I asked Rita to put them on a paper dinner plate and I would take them home. Dear Rita said, “Why don’t you take the rest of the cake home too?” Saying, “Oh Rita I couldn’t do that, your family would want some of this wonderful cake,” never entered my mind. I thanked her profusely as the excitement welled up. To think I could have more than half that huge cake as my own was mouth watering good. Thank goodness many of the hikers were either allergic, diabetic, or on diets meant more for me. Add selfish, heartless and grateful for the ills of my neighbors to the above list.

But My Honey has none of my above characteristics. She thinks of others and feels deeply about friends and neighbors. My Honey is a sharer of all I have. By the time she gave away large chunks of my coveted chocolate cake there wasn’t much left. Add, “Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s cake,” to my above list of character evaluation.

February 2001 I had an operation for an aneurysm. Rita baked me a Chocolate get well, oh so moist, cake with the fudge icing piled high, and swirled all around. It was beautiful in its oversized glass cake holder and tasted so good. The kind you eat all the ice cream before starting on the cake so the flavor lasts as long as possible. Then you wish away time so you can have another slice. About two days later I popped the icebox door to fine a perfect ¼ cake standing tall. A call to 911 determined that My Honey did it again. She gave away my cake again. Second cake, second time the big give away. It would be eight months before the next Ridge Runners picnic and a chance for another cake for Shirl to give away.

The 2001 picnic was a huge success. Rita brought her cake. I don’t remember where the picnic was that year or what the weather was like only that Rita brought her cake. That was the beginning of going from one hiker to another commenting how much sugar, butter and other cholesterol fattening additives were built into Rita’s cake to make it taste so tong twisting good. It seemed to work. There was well over half a cake left that year. Kind and generous Rita just handed it to me. It was becoming a most wonderful habit. Now the next stage was to prevent My Honey from doing her thing. Thought about freezing individually wrapped slices to hide in the freezer but My Honey had most of it given away by dinnertime that same day. I only had one neighbor telling ME how much they enjoyed MY cake?? It’s no wonder My Honey is so popular here at the Lake giving away my acquired deserts no matter what dastardly conniving I may use to amass them.

The 2002 picnic was a change for the better. Rita and husband George offered to DO the whole picnic and the Ridge Runners accepted the offer. What a spread that was for us all. We had what seemed to be a dozen coolers loaded with Rita prepared food. Baked beans, salads, hotdogs and hamburgers and another finger licking piled high with chocolate fudge icing cake in that huge glass container I love so much. One look at My Honey told me she was planning for the big giveaway even before I could get that cake in the car. The size of the cake I bring home is of no importance any longer. I know I will only get three or four slices no matter the size of my prize. I am now in waiting until the next Picnic. I know I’m a liar, cheat, thief, selfish, heartless, grateful for the ills of my neighbors, and I covet thy neighbors tongue twisting oversized chocolate cake piled high with chocolate fudge icing with swirls all around on that oversized glass cake dish covered by that huge domed glass lid, and I don’t care. Add guilty as charged to the above list. Come on picnic, I can’t wait!!!

Moving to the lake was best thing I ever did in my whole life.

A GOOD RIDE OR BAD RIDE

This was the assignment given in 1996 by Walter Quinn at our meeting in Vienna, Virginia of “The Old People’s Writing Class of Memories of our Youth,” or “The Youthful Memories of a Bygone Time by Old Geezers and Pretty Ladies.” I am not sure of the official name of our class.

I only know I have had both types of rides. There are some rides of joy, like leaving college after sixteen years of school agony and on my way to Kane, PA to marry the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and loved with all my heart for 56 years. Bringing the babies home from the hospital. Driving a new car. Airplane rides to visit children only to be superseded by the ride home. In fact the best ride of all is going home. Rides to the hospital, dentist, shopping, funeral homes, school, draft board, troop ship and such, are bad rides.

I have ridden in a uterus, over and under a shoulder, on a hip and in arms. I have ridden tricycles, bicycles, roller skates, ice skates, red wagons, sleds, streetcars on tracks, and an electric bus in Baltimore, horse drawn carts, horses, tractors, Ford model T, A, and B cars, Hupmobile, Army jeeps, trucks, tanks, bulldozers, road graders, busses, trains, airplanes from Pipers Cubs to jumbo jets, boats, ships, rafts, sail boats, row boats, canoes, golf carts, Ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds, bump cars, a three wheel Cushman motor scooter, a Vesper motor scooter, and probably a lot more wheeled conveyances I don’t remember.

I have been taken for a ride. I have been ridden roughshod over and under. I have waited for a ride. I have ridden for a fall, rode shotgun, and ridden herd on the family. I have ridden out hurricanes, tornadoes, lightning storms, and blizzards. I have ridden on waves and at anchor. I have been a real rider and driver all my life. Did I forget a Volkswagen Beetle? I have not been ridden out of town on a rail, rode to jail in a paddy wagon, ridden in a stage coach, or ridden a dog sled.

BUT I have never, nor will I ever ride on a roller coaster. There is not enough money in this world to get me on one time. You may say, “You have missed out on the meaning of life.” I know I have missed out of the meaning of life. “Everyone else is going.” I don’t care what everyone else is doing. “If you won’t ride, you are chicken.” I know I am chicken. “You are a scare-de-cat.” Yes I am. “You are afraid aren’t you?” Yes. I have always had an answer to everyone and not ashamed either. I will not ride, thank you very much!

BUT Brother BUD would have been a very good roller coaster inspector and probably a designer of experimental rides had he not decided to go into a safer job as a Navy fighter pilot. There was never a ride he wouldn’t ride. The family would go to Glen Echo Amusement Park, out in the country, to cool off on a hot summer night. As soon as we parked, Bud was off running to get in line for the roller coaster. He was too young to go alone and by the time we got there he had tickets for dad and himself. Dad would ride with him one time in the beginning and once before we left. Bud would run so much and get so excited that Dad had to make him take time out to keep his heart inside his chest. As soon as Dad could not see his heart beating through his shirt, Bud was off. I got so angry with him taking so many times outs since his time outs were my outs too.

The House of Fun was great. They had revolving drums to walk through, moving walks, funny mirrors, and bucking broncos. There was a ride Bud liked in there that consisted of tricycles ridden down a ramp starting at the ceiling and circling the outside wall to the floor. The idea was to get on the tricycle without peddles and brakes to free fall down the ramp picking up speeds to 100 miles an hour without crashing. I didn’t ride that one either. I saw all those broken, bleeding kids and said NO! BUT BUD might be broken and bleeding but it did not stop him from going back again and again to be broken and bleeding once more. As I look back on our childhood, I am convinced that without more than one guardian angel looking out for Bud, I would have been an only child by the age of five.

I am sure there are roller coasters in Heaven just for him that would make King’s Dominion look like a flat road. Bud is probably the roller coaster designer and test rider of Heaven and has a designed and is operating a coaster just for me, and when I die he will have a car at my side with a coaster built all the way to Heaven and say with his smile of an accomplished rider, “ Come on Chicken. Now that you are dead, lets’ ride my new design built just for you!” I will say, “Cluck, cluck brother Bud, You may be my brother and I am dead, but I will not ever, no never ride a roller coaster through out all eternity and that goes for tricycles down ramps too.” Dad will probably arrive at that time, since Bud would have run on ahead, and make him have a time out and I will have to wait since his time outs are mine too.

PS. I hope the popcorn will be as good in Heaven as it was at Glen Echo those hot summer nights so long ago.