Rolling Waves Posted on April 13th, 2009 Ella keeps begging us to go back into the ocean. She wants us to lift her over the waves. She squeals with joy each time a wave rolls under her legs that she holds lifted at a ninety degree angle. She yells,"Bam", each time the waves breaks on the shore. She trusts us completely as we hold her suspended over the water. We let her down into the shallows that darken the sand and we three wait for the next rolling wave of happiness to bring the anticipated thrill. Ella doesn't touch the wave as it rolls under her. Is it the thrill of being lifted that causes the joy or the uncertainty of being dropped into the rolling wave? Again and again she wants us to lift her until our arms are aching with fatigue. We have to beg for a rest on the beach through which she relentlessly paces and begs to begin again the lifting and laughing. buffalo in Puako Finally cold enough to want to stop Ella flops down and covers herself in the complete warm sensation of hot sand. She stands up and brushes it off unaware of the direction of the wind and any unwary recipients. She asks for a sandwich and grips it greedily with sandy hands as she starts to dig a hole. Ella never stops talking. She asks questions, she points out all my inconsistencies. Ella asks if I like to brush my hair and then wants me to stand up so that she can inspect the front of my beach chair. She drops shells she has collected and laughs hysterically at the mishap. Wandering away is not something Ella will do. We still are able to intimidate her and make her believe that we know what is best. Someday she will question it. My mother's opinion was not something I wanted. I had stopped asking or accepting her advice at some point, thinking that my peers knew better. I wanted to listen to them. I don't know why I did this. I was so determined to do it on my own. I trusted no one to really have my best interest at heart. I should have known that my mother would have. It wasn't until now that I am fifty that I understand. I call my mom and apologize for the years of my resistance. She is silent on the phone. I know this silence now. I use it myself. It is opinion silence. I means I have something very strong and important that I want to say, but I know if I say it, you will reject it and I will feel hurt and disappointed. We sit on either end of the phone line together in silence. Will this apology lift us over the next wave or will we plunge into yet another rolling uncertainty? When gathering our belongings to leave, Ella puts on her flip flops and announces that she will lead the way back to the car. The rest of us are laden with lunch bags, beach chairs, umbrellas, towels, and reading material. Ella strides ahead as we struggle under our portage. "Come on you guys!" She yells in her tiny voice. We listen to her and comply. rolling waves Mom's Banana Coffee Cake My mom has this coffee cake waiting everytime I visit her Oregon. Breakfast is always ready to be served when I walk down the stairs of her lovely home. I know that this coffee cake will accompany whatever other delectable breakfast treats she has prepared. Adapted from Carol Steel's Aravaipa Farms Morning Banana Cake * 2 1/2 cups flour * 1 cup pecans, slightly toasted * 1 cup dried cranberries, or dried strawberries * 1 teas baking powder * 1 teas baking soda * 1 teas salt * 2 1/2 cups sugar * 1 cup mashed ripe banana * 2 teas vanilla * 2 large eggs * 1 cup melted butter (salted) * 1 cup buttermilk Mix the flour, pecans, cranberries,baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. In a separate large bowl mix the sugar, banana, vanilla, and eggs until blended. Add the butter and the buttermilk. Mix this into the egg mixture. Add the flour mixture and fold together until incorporated. Butter and flour a nonstick decorative tube pan. Bake for approximately 1 hour at 350F or until a skewer inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. Cool the cake then release the cake out of the pan and serve.