I feel a bit guilty about posting this so late since the wedding was well over a month ago, but because the wedding was only one part of the big-life-changing-events package I signed up for (the other components being a move and a new job), I figured I'd cut myself a little slack.  And so, as promised, I present to you (albeit belatedly) "My Wedding Cake: Part Deux." 

What made the experience so memorable lay in two things: recognizing that so many friends and family helped bring this cake to fruition, and realizing, while I was putting the cakes in the car during the morning of the wedding, "This is it!  No time for a dress rehearsal (in terms of both the cake, and, of course, the wedding itself.).  Get your arse out on stage (cake-decorating/wedding-dress-wearing/center-stage-whether-you-like-it-or-not mode) and don't look back!"  And so I took my own advice and didn't.  And I loved every minute of it.  And, I'm now realizing, my high-school AP English teacher would kill me if he knew how many sentences I'm starting with the word "and."  And, I suppose, in writing this, I'm technically "looking back."  And...

...to get back to the actual subject of this post, here's what happened on the wedding day in terms of the cake preparation/presentation/consumption.  Between the hair/makeup session and the family photo session, I had about 30 minutes to run to the reception site with my sister, transport the cakes, and assemble and decorate the layers (yeay for adrenaline!).  Molly Nickles, my friend and photographer extraordinaire, was keeping a tight schedule, so I didn't get to put the final touches on the cake before being whisked off for the family photo session, but thanks to my fabulous, creative, and ever-adaptable cousin, Nina, the finished cake was, to repeat myself, pretty freaking awesome.

Later in the evening, my sister (a.k.a. best friend, maid of honor, and emcee) shared the story about how my grandmother had grown up in a bakery, and how our baking the cake together served as a tribute to both her father and her love of baking. 

To realize that so much work--the countless trips to the cake supply store; the practice baking sessions with my grandmother; the full day spent baking the cakes; the crazy and somewhat impromptu frosting-the-cake party (turns out that my grandfather, who has never baked a cake in his life, possesses expert-level cake-frosting skills!); the harrowing business of transporting the cake; and the oh-so thrilling experience of decorating the cake in a 30-minute window--had come down to a speech that would be over in a minute and a cake that would be cut up, served, and consumed in an hour, was a bit overwhelming. 

But, like the opening performance of a play, I loved how singular and unique--even ephemeral--the whole experience was.  To acutely feel that the moment wouldn't last for more than a couple hours made it thrilling beyond description.  Kind of how I imagine Andy Goldsworthy feels when he spends hours/days/weeks assembling a work of art only to have the finished product last only a short while before it's destroyed by the forces of nature. 

And so we, too, destroyed our humble work of art. 

We cut the cake.

We smashed the cake into each other's mouth. 

We consumed the cake. 

 And...we lived happily ever after (that's the goal, at least! :) ♥