With Mother’s Day this Sunday, many of us are trying to figure out how to honor the mothers in our lives. Many will opt for flowers or a brunch or a combination of the two. Then there are those who try to find a unique way to say, “Happy Mother’s Day.”
Some years ago, I decided to pursue the creative angle. This was back in the day when I was still a firefighter. I had made a couple of ice cream cakes for the boys in the firehouse that turned out pretty well. Mother’s Day was around the corner, and I was fairly certain I could make one for my mom.
Not to sound arrogant, but my confidence in my own abilities was well placed. I made a nice looking strawberry ice cream cake using fresh strawberries from a recent berry picking excursion. I put the cake in a plain white box, put that in a cooler and headed over to my mom’s the Saturday before the big day. The plan was to sneak the cake into the garage freezer and bring it out the next day during our Mother’s Day celebration.
As luck would have it, my parents weren’t home. I hid the cake in the back of the freezer and headed out.
The next day, the family got together for our Mother’s Day dinner. After we finished up, I excused myself to retrieve the ice cream cake from the garage freezer. Inside the garage I froze.The good ol’ plain white freezer I grew up with; the one I dented with the family car at age 18; the one that was there just yesterday — was gone. In it’s place was a brand new, Kenmore Freezer. I reached for the handle and opened the door. Inside, it was a thing of beauty. Sparkling clean shelves, an immaculate white interior, and a state-of-the-art temperature control dial. But there was no food. No frozen leftovers. No ice cube trays. No (gasp) Mother’s Day ice cream cake. It was completely empty.
There was a reason my parents weren’t home the day before. They had been out buying a new freezer. They had it delivered the same day and threw away everything that was in the old freezer. My father figured it had all been in there so long, it just had to have freezer burn.
I looked in the trash can. Sitting on top of the trash was the ice cream cake box. I opened it to reveal an abundance of limp strawberry slices half floating in a creamy white and red liquid goo.
While my mother was disappointed she would not be able to taste her Mother’s Day present, my father was openly distraught. Two weeks before Father’s Day, he took every precaution, short of an armed guard, to ensure nothing inside the freezer was thrown out.