Smoke Signals and Apple Cake

Yep, that’s me at Disneyland, on the Tower of Terror ride just before it drops. Can you guess which one I am? I will tell you at the end, but here’s a hint:  I actually almost like this picture of me.

I once read that people who live in Southern California consider Disneyland their own personal playground. There’s truth in that. I know I get irate when I go to D-land and there are too many tourists. “Where did all these tourists come from?” I fuss to my guest. Never mind that a short year ago I was said tourist. My guest is probably a tourist, too.

Of all the benefits of moving to Los Angeles from my home in the Southwest, I consider my D-land pass—the premium one with no blackout dates—the most important. When we have guests I always take them to D-land. Some are only tolerant of the idea but after a day spent Soarin’ over California or helping the Rebel Alliance in 3-D, I soon convert them to the happy side.

I do love Disneyland.

When I was a kid, my family and I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area and on Sunday nights I watched The Wonderful World of Disney. I watched that show and longed to go to Disneyland. And a stay at the Disneyland Hotel? That was just literally beyond imagination. To me, a poor, little Mexican kid, only Rich, White People stayed there and the only word in that phrase that even sort of described me is “people.”

That feeling of being on the outside persisted throughout my childhood and into adulthood. My parents moved us to New England, where I came of age, and then to a small Northeastern Rust Belt town. I never did see anyone in either place who looked anything like me.

Eventually I met my husband and raised a family. My husband does NOT care about D-land and he made that quite plain from the beginning. It did not matter. We lived in that small town for 25 years and I never did fit in and it never did feel like home. Once a year, however, one of my three children and I made a pilgrimage to California so they could know their Mexican family and heritage—at least that’s what I told my husband and his white bread family. In reality I wanted my children to know the joys and pleasures of Disneyland.

It is not easy feeling like you do not fit and knowing those you think should care do not. It came out all right the year my grandfather, Angel Mijares, died, though. I think of it as a gift he gave me. On Thanksgiving of that year I set off on the cross-country flight to Los Angeles to say goodbye to him. I have to say, my sadness surprised me so one day I went to Disneyland alone. I did not ride any rides, but I walked all over the park. It was hot and crowded but all I could see were bunches of little kids having fun. It comforted me. That is the day I knew, without a doubt and with no small pleasure, I am homeless no more.

Today, because of my pass, I can go to D-land whenever I please, and have even stayed at the Disneyland Hotel. Until last July I had a great D-land partner; we went every two weeks. Through experience, we learned how to maximize our visit. We had it down. I still have it down but now there is a problem. Gabriel, my D-land partner and youngest son, is no longer available. He left home, drawn by China’s siren call. If I want to go with him, I will have to wait until 2016, then go to Shanghai, where a Disneyland Park is scheduled to open.

I go to Disneyland by myself now. As it happens, there are plenty of people who go alone and I am happy to be a part of their club. It’s ok, because Mickey always has time to visit. And here’s another option. A cast member once told me that Walt Disney himself, though he died in 1966, sometimes visits his old office. You know he’s there because you can smell his cigarette smoke, even though smoking is absolutely forbidden in the park except in designated areas, and none of those areas are by his former office. True story.

These days, when I am alone I make a point to walk past Walt’s office. We haven’t crossed paths yet, but someday . . .

Apple Cake:

Ok, so Disneyland has nothing to do with apple cake. Here’s the very thin thread I will use to loosely tie it all altogether.

My husband’s experience is just the opposite of mine. He is third from the bottom of 11 children, comes from that small town I mentioned, and can trace his family history back to the Revolutionary War in that same small town.  Until a few years ago, he knew nothing of moving, of feeling outside of things, or of the courage it takes to leave home and begin a new life.

This recipe came from his mother, Beulah, who is now gone. She was well known for the fruits of her oven, which she contributed to weekly bake sales, the proceeds of which built the only Catholic Church in her corner of the town.

All of us in the family have the recipe and over the years, I have eaten apple cake at picnics and family reunions made by several different hands. The funny thing is, not one of us can make it like my mother-in-law and in fact, they all taste different from one another. Personally, I believe mine is the closest to Beulah’s (we probably all say that).

I used a real sliced apple for the pattern and again, use the usual paper craft tools and supplies to make this card. I used a color pencil to draw in the seeds.

 

Here are the card ingredients:

1 piece of dark brown cardstock, cut into a 6- by 6-inch piece and a scrap for an apple stem

1 piece of beige cardstock, to be cut down later

2 pieces of scrap red cardstock, big enough to cut out an apple shape

Two pieces of creamy white cardstock, to mimic the inside of an apple, and again, big enough to cut out an apple shape

1 scrap of green cardstock, big enough for a leaf

Jolee’s worm

Jolee’s apple pieces

Tape, two pieces, single-sided, about 3/8-inches wide, cut to about 1-inch lengths, to be used as a kind of hinge

Note:  Jolee no longer makes the exact apples and worms I used, but the company has other stickers and embellishments that would fit, so check those out here (this is not a paid endorsement. I just like their stuff):  http://www.eksuccessbrands.com/jolees/

If you choose to make your own, the little apple on the side is about ⅝-inches around.

There are a few things you should do before putting the card together.

1. Print the title on the beige cardstock. I used about size 20 Bradley Hand ITC.
2. My title block is 5¾-inches wide by ⅝-inches high. Just cut it so the lettering looks pleasing.
3. From the beige, cut one of each size:  4⅛- by 4⅞-inches and 1¼- by 2½-inches.
4. I made practice recipe prints on scrap typing paper before I printed it on the creamy white cardstock. I used size 11 Bradley Hand ITC, then moved the paragraphs up and down until they fit into the inside of the apple. I fit the text in correctly by trial and error. You can see from the photo how it was placed. Do not cut out the apple shapes until you have printed the recipe. Then draw the apple shape around the recipe and cut it out. I used the same apple pattern as I did for the red apples, but cut it out inside the lines so it was smaller all around.
5. Punch a small hole in one of the red cardstock apples, poke the worm through, then secure it with adhesive. That is now the front apple.
6. On the other red apple, secure the brown stem to the back of the piece. That is the side that will be secured to the card. Do not secure it to the card yet.
7. Lay the apples shoulder to shoulder right side down. Place the tape sticky side down on the parts where the apple pieces touch, in other words, on their shoulders. Essentially, you are making a hinge.
8. Secure the apples to the beige piece of paper.
9. Secure the creamy white apples to the red apples.

From the picture you can see how the card is laid out and what is to go where, unless you like something different.

Here’s the recipe:

Mix:

1¾ cups sugar

¾ cups oil

3 eggs

Beat until well blended.

Combine:

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon vanilla

Mix with egg and sugar mixture.

Add:

2 cups diced apples

½ cup chopped nuts

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Bake for 50 minutes in a greased and floured 9- by 13-inch pan.

PS:

I’m the one in pink, praying. Sitting next to me is my brother, Roger, who really did not care about Disneyland until I dragged him there. Then he could not get enough of it, especially the Tower of Terror, because it reminded him of the Twilight Zone.

Sorry this was so long. I will not make any promises for the next posting.