Skip to main content

Your Life As A Cake

Have you ever thought of your life as being a round birthday cake?

No I hadn't either and then it occurred to me that this isn't such a bizarre analogy...stick with me on this one, it does make sense.

Let's say you viewed your entire life as a birthday cake with each slice representing an important milestone. As you make your way around the cake in a clockwise direction and remove slices, you can recognise the achievements you've made.

When you are born, you remove the first slice and look at a cross-section (sideways on). There you are in your mother's arms in the hospital, dressed in your white baby grow, possibly gurgling, more probably asleep, little eyes tightly shut. Eat the slice.

Remove the second slice. Now you're up on your little legs, walking around the furniture gurgling proudly to yourself and so on. Go on, take a bite.

Yesterday, Dassi removed a slice from her cake and looked at it. It was our tour around a secondary school, potentially the one she'll attend next September. It was a large slice, with quite a bit of icing on top. We viewed the classrooms, talked to the teachers and did a lot of both wandering and wondering. It was a slice that we needed to digest properly, to really ensure that it would be worthy of it's place in the pantheon of her life to date. For me, it was a slice that I was very proud to partake of, even the crumbs were noteworthy.

My cake is halfway eaten. I've eaten a fair number of slices, some which were easier to digest, others which took quite a number of bites to get through.

What does yours look like today?

Comments

Anonymous said…
And just when you think your cake is all eaten, you get married and begin a new layer of cake! Yup, life really is 3 dimensional!

Popular posts from this blog

Ten Jewberry Muds

To get the full effect, this message should be read out loud. You will understand what 'tenjewberrymuds' means by the end of the conversation. This has been nominated for the best email of 2005. The following is a telephone exchange between a hotel guest and room-service at a hotel in Asia, which was recorded and published in the FarEast Economic Review: Room Service (RS): "Morrin. Roon sirbees." Guest (G): "Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service." RS: "Rye..Roon sirbees..morrin! Jewish to oddor sunteen??" G: "Uh..yes..I'd like some bacon and eggs." RS: "Ow July den?" G: "What??" RS: "Ow July den?...pryed, boyud, poochd?" G: "Oh, the eggs! How do I like them? Sorry, scrambled please." RS: "Ow July dee baykem? Crease?" G: "Crisp will be fine." RS: "Hokay. An Sahn toes?" G: "What?" RS: "An toes. July Sahn toes?" G: "I don't think so."

Our City

Tomorrow night, we will be celebrating the thirty-ninth anniversary of the return of Jerusalem into Jewish hands. Many people around the world continue to deny the Jewish people the right to claim the city as our eternal capital. On the Temple Mount, the Arabs do what they can to destroy any evidence of our ancient presence, yet, despite their efforts, they cannot erase the basic fact that Jerusalem has, is and will always be - ours. This is not to say that the city is less important to persons of another faith. What I am stating and categorically so, is that Jerusalem is accessible to anyone who wants to worship therein, but never it let be forgotten that, at the end of the day, we, the Jewish Nation are the only people who, since time immemorial have chosen this very special place as a destination for all our prayers - she belongs to us. Every time we pray to G-d, we face towards Jerusalem. Every single Ark in every single Synagogue faces towards the city. It’s presence in our psyche

Oh, To Be Loved

I confiscated a tub of Vaseline from a Year 8 student today. The same kid admitted to throwing a stub of paper at me from the back of the room. After the end of the lesson, I refused to return the Vaseline to him, whereupon he curtly told me to “drop dead”. When he approached me at lunch and asked me again for his precious tub, I told him that he could have it back if he wrote me a letter of apology. His response - “shut up”. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother teaching these children. I know that moaning about it here won’t help in the slightest, but at least it makes me feel a little better by getting it out of my system