Growing up the day after Christmas often felt a little disappointing to me. Sure you can go out to the tree and eat cookies with hot apple cider. You can play with your new toys, but somehow everything seems a little more brighter — garrishly brighter rather than lit by twinkly Christmas lights brighter. The toys are just as awesome, the cookies are as delicious, and the tree is exactly the same as it was the day before; yet on this day the promise, excitement and anticipation are over.
The day after the day after starts something new. That Christmas — the eve, the day, the day after — becomes a memory. Christmas memories are wonderfully, permanently plump with twinkly multicolor lights illuminating tinsel of silver and gold.
The trick, it would seem, is to immediately think of each Christmas as an event of years past.
I figure if this idea works in one situation it should work in others as well. Which is why I am going to think of this cake as such. I eagerly anticipated this cake, but when the time came it felt a little flat. The pears wouldn’t ripen, things were forgotten, it was barely enough to feed everyone and so on and so on. The Christmas, however, was an event well-deserving of its place as a memory.