She was born on a creamy Tuesday full of grace with a big O angel lip yawn. Sharing the widest of smiles, in what was to become her typical Tiffney Cake-Pop style.
Her childhood rarely sprinkled with ubiquitous luck, let alone grace, yet she made each day her own sugar coated surprise, in spite.
Her dearly loved grandmother Elizabeth taught her the alchemy of baking. At an early age, Tiff made marvelous butter cream cakes full of sweet lemon and light for her imaginary Queen Liz named Grammy, and scones so plain, even a Brit might delight. But in her amalgamation of all things yummy and decadent, it was the revered Cake-Pop that enticed her imagination. From the very start, everyone raved of her gift of the bake.
If Cake-Pop’s were an Olympic event, no doubt she would have been standing tall for the National Anthem, with a Cake-Pop shaped Gold medal dangling from her neck.
Yes, Tiff was in love with her life and of course her beloved Cake-Pops that she made for every occasion, including her grandmothers royal departure, to her most final of destinations. Her grief was short lived, as instructed by Queen Liz, with only one bitter-sweet residue of sadness. It was then when Tiffney made a difficult choice to never revisit grandmother’s kitchen again. It had all to do with, or nothing at all, with Grumpy Grandpa Nicholas, in his faded denim overalls. Wrongly everyone assumed that over the years, his silence and grouse was the result of his assigned dark-chocolate Cake-Pops, subsumed of course in their distinct black sprinkled tops.
And as goes time and baking, with each new Cake-Pop, tick then tock, she made a new friend, as her unbounded love continued its warm oven glow.
In the center of her life, she would create summer Cake-Pops of Water-Melon tops, with black currant seeds afloat all swimming in red. And too she would bake Pineapple Cake-Pops for all her valued welcomings, and include the best gild of gold exploiting her pallet of candied hues. Even Tiff’s Lemon-Raspberry-Cream Pop, stood atop her very own wedding cake. And all her children, so well rounded, were never without her yummy yellow hug-pops.
***
It’s been twenty-five years and not one cake-pop day passes that love is not arranged, at the base of her Cake-Pop grave. Often displayed, are frequent Cake-Pop bouquets, at times garnished in roses all chrism pink, and mums, not to mention green baby tears.
And In the open bird mouths of springs, you may find the blooms of the eye catching Hydrangea, and Billy Button’s dressed in their best dressed-up vests. Our Tuesday’s Child would not have it any other way.
As fall was her special time of year, she would have enjoyed baking gratitude, yet in her passing she shared the lace of her Amaryllis, as well as her Cake-Pop forget-me-not, all woven in blue garlands.
Every winter invisible White Roses lay, near her grave, in the frosty cake-pop snow.
Her childhood rarely sprinkled with ubiquitous luck, let alone grace, yet she made each day her own sugar coated surprise, in spite.
Her dearly loved grandmother Elizabeth taught her the alchemy of baking. At an early age, Tiff made marvelous butter cream cakes full of sweet lemon and light for her imaginary Queen Liz named Grammy, and scones so plain, even a Brit might delight. But in her amalgamation of all things yummy and decadent, it was the revered Cake-Pop that enticed her imagination. From the very start, everyone raved of her gift of the bake.
If Cake-Pop’s were an Olympic event, no doubt she would have been standing tall for the National Anthem, with a Cake-Pop shaped Gold medal dangling from her neck.
Yes, Tiff was in love with her life and of course her beloved Cake-Pops that she made for every occasion, including her grandmothers royal departure, to her most final of destinations. Her grief was short lived, as instructed by Queen Liz, with only one bitter-sweet residue of sadness. It was then when Tiffney made a difficult choice to never revisit grandmother’s kitchen again. It had all to do with, or nothing at all, with Grumpy Grandpa Nicholas, in his faded denim overalls. Wrongly everyone assumed that over the years, his silence and grouse was the result of his assigned dark-chocolate Cake-Pops, subsumed of course in their distinct black sprinkled tops.
And as goes time and baking, with each new Cake-Pop, tick then tock, she made a new friend, as her unbounded love continued its warm oven glow.
In the center of her life, she would create summer Cake-Pops of Water-Melon tops, with black currant seeds afloat all swimming in red. And too she would bake Pineapple Cake-Pops for all her valued welcomings, and include the best gild of gold exploiting her pallet of candied hues. Even Tiff’s Lemon-Raspberry-Cream Pop, stood atop her very own wedding cake. And all her children, so well rounded, were never without her yummy yellow hug-pops.
***
It’s been twenty-five years and not one cake-pop day passes that love is not arranged, at the base of her Cake-Pop grave. Often displayed, are frequent Cake-Pop bouquets, at times garnished in roses all chrism pink, and mums, not to mention green baby tears.
And In the open bird mouths of springs, you may find the blooms of the eye catching Hydrangea, and Billy Button’s dressed in their best dressed-up vests. Our Tuesday’s Child would not have it any other way.
As fall was her special time of year, she would have enjoyed baking gratitude, yet in her passing she shared the lace of her Amaryllis, as well as her Cake-Pop forget-me-not, all woven in blue garlands.
Every winter invisible White Roses lay, near her grave, in the frosty cake-pop snow.
