I’velived in Atlanta for almost 9 years and people still write to me or mention myMom’s cakes in conversation. In my life, I’ve had many names: Jorge, George,Jorge Alberto (if I heard that, I knew I’d done it), Cheech, Giogio, Gio and inthe last decade JD. Still, there was a recurring name I was given in many a jobI had back home: the Cake Guy.

Now,although I’ve learned to bake some of Mom’s cakes although to a lesser degree(albeit still respectable), Mom was always the Cake Queen. The amount ofbirthdays, weddings, sweet sixteens, quinceañeros, parties, gatherings, and allsorts of festivities that included one of Mom’s cakes was easily in the hundredsand possibly in the thousands. Beyond that, I’d often tell Mom to bake acertain amount of cakes and that I would sell them for her in the office,thusly becoming the unofficial (but probably quite official) distributor for Marietta’sSweets, in addition to my duties as a creative copywriter in advertising and publicrelations. To keep things on the up and up, I would often talk with asupervisor or someone from HR to make sure everyone was OK with this sweet sidehustle, although I mainly got paid in cake and love. Fortunately, I neverencountered any “buts”. Quite the contrary actually. They’d thank me and in thesame paragraph ask me when I could bring some cakes. Please note, cakes.Plural.

Sofor monthly birthday celebrations, I’d bring, one or two (even up to three) ofMom’s cakes. At some offices, I had a part of my desk dedicated to the storageof cakes. As a promotor, I was always beyond confident in the product becausenot only did I know the chef, I had the privilege of trying those cakes frombatter to bundt, sometimes with only enough time out of the oven to be able tode-mold.

Onmore than one occasion people would ask me if I worried that someone wouldn’ttake me seriously at work for selling Mom’s cakes or if I thought it wouldaffect me in any way. I’d reply that I always deliver what I have in thepipeline and that one thing has nothing to do with the other. Besides, it wasfor Mom and I’d do anything for her, and this especially since it brought Herjoy as well as anyone fortunate enough to snag a piece of cake. That’s how Iwas in four different jobs I had. With either days dedicated to the delivery ofcakes or with a cake (or several) available at my desk, ready to go to anyonewho had heard stories or wanted to confirm their in-depth flavor theories ofthe levels of deliciousness contained within those cakes, while I deliveredevery task I had been assigned. Her heart was always full when she knew hercakes were a hit and that people often fought for a second piece (never violent,but plenty insistent).

Nowadays,although I no longer sell cakes, they live on in my stories. Mrs. Fawn is oneof my absolute favorite characters to write because she’s inspired by Mom. Sheappears in several of my books because she’s not bound by any rules, literaryor otherwise. She has a universal magic that is welcome in any story she wantsto step in and she’s with me in everything. Aside from her pivotal role in thecosmos, Mrs. Fawn doesn’t limit herself to that type of magic. There’s always aslice of lemon cake nearby to offer weary travelers sweet nourishment with aside of smiles.

AsI mentioned above, I was witness to the entire process to make one of Marietta’scakes. From the batter, I knew it’d be on point. From how it looked, to how itflowed silkily into the mold and the Elysian aromas that would hug every cornerof the house as magic did its thing within the oven. But beyond the recipe,there was something she included in each and every cake of which there was noshortage in her pantry: love.

Todaywould have been 76 and although we toast to you today, the fact is that everytime I raise my glass, your name is there apart from having it tattoed in mysoul. With my stories, the legacy of her cakes continues in a way, becausealthough I may be many things, part of me shall always be the Cake Guy andMarietta’s youngest.

Thanksfor reading,

Peace,love, lemon cake and Cheers Mama Estrada.

 #CheersMamaEstrada

@font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Aptos; panose-1:2 11 0 4 2 2 2 2 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:536871559 3 0 0 415 0;}@font-face {font-family:Georgia; panose-1:2 4 5 2 5 4 5 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Aptos",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Aptos; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Aptos; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Aptos; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-font-kerning:1.0pt; mso-ligatures:standardcontextual;}.MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Aptos; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Aptos; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Aptos; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}