Anticipation

by Carrie Pålsson

I spent the month of March obsessing over chocolate cake. If a website can gain weight, Google must have gained at least twenty pounds while tracking down the likes of "chocolate decadence" and "death by chocolate." I found recipes for dense chocolate concoctions that were so rich they came with a warning. I drooled over the endless variations of chocolate cheesecake. I debated the age old question of light versus dark--chocolate that is.

My husband would come home in the evenings and find piles of cookbooks scattered around my feet. I'd show him pictures of Red Velvet cake with tangy cream cheese frosting and Devil's Food cake with fluffy white icing. I tried to entice him with pictures of white chocolate curls atop thick chocolate ganache. He was having none of it. I wanted his opinion, but he had only three words for me: "It's your birthday."

Men simply don't understand the allure of the perfect chocolate cake.

As much as I love cake and chocolate, I try to limit my intake of both. Cake is only allowed at birthday parties and since I live four thousand miles away from my family and don't have many local friends, instances of cake indulgence are rare. Even when I am invited to a party, I am at the mercies of the party host. A perfectly frosted cake will sit invitingly in a place of honor, just daring me to get my hopes up. I can never predict what the first cutting will reveal, but I always yearn for chocolate. Mango was the flavor of choice at the last birthday bash I attended. It was yummy, but it wasn't chocolate.

My birthday is the only day of the year when I allow myself to have the perfect cake--whatever I decide that might be. I scout out the local bakeries and see if they have anything tantalizing enough to give up the joy of baking my own cake. I carefully consider every recipe I encounter. I fantasize about the texture of dense chocolate and light chiffon. Chocolate mousse spends an inappropriate amount of time in my thoughts.

After much anticipation and planning, I celebrated my 32nd birthday with a three layer light chocolate chiffon cake, filled with a thick chocolate ganache then covered with a fluffy chocolate cream. I spent hours baking, stirring, folding, fluffing, melting and spreading. I was positively maniacal in my glee as I assembled the cake into a glorious chocolate tower.

Of course, the first bite of cake was good, perhaps even great, but it was nowhere near as stunning as I'd been anticipating. I enjoyed it, but after a full month of eager yearning, the cake just didn't measure up. I'd led myself to speculate on perfection and there was no way reality could ever live up to my visions of culinary grandeur.

Anticipation can be a dangerous thing. I used to let myself daydream and plot and plan. I had every facet of my future planned out. I knew where I would live, what my husband would look like and what I would do for a living. I even had a set of house plans clipped from my local newspaper. My overactive brain had the house fully furnished in colors I would never choose today.

All that anticipation did no good. I never could have predicted the twists and turns my life would follow. I'd have laughed in your face if you told me I would live in Sweden or Washington, D. C. I never could have predicted a man quite like my husband. Big city life has taught me to be content in an apartment instead of the house of my dreams. Children were never in the fantasy life I constructed for myself, yet my son is my greatest joy and being a stay-at-home mom is a much more rewarding career than I expected.

As changes to my "Ultimate Future Blueprint" snuck in one by one, I slowly let go of all my preconceived notions. I learned that life is more delightful when I dare to take a road I never even knew existed. I discovered that breaking out of my self-imposed safe and easy future could lead to joys that would leave me breathless.

These days I don't anticipate much. I have no idea where I will be in two years from now. I dare not even consider the possibilities. I want to be in Oregon, close to my mother and niece and nephew but I might end up in Australia. There's simply no predicting the future, so it would be foolish to pin my hopes on something that might never come to pass..

Instead of dreaming my big dreams, I am content to anticipate the small joys that are inevitable. My mind is occupied with thoughts of the perfect chocolate cake. In a few months I will start harassing my ever-patient husband with pleas to tell me what Santa is bringing me for Christmas. Truthfully, I take more pleasure out of analyzing the possibilities than I do out of the actual gifts. The anticipation is delectable, the reality is bound to be drab.

I think most humans are hard-wired to look to the future, but if we put all our energy into anticipation we won't be able to enjoy the here and now. Instead of looking into a murky crystal ball that can't begin to give an accurate picture of the future, look at your life as it is now. Enjoy each moment as it comes. Savor the touch of a loved one. Memorize your child's smile. Dance with abandon. The future will take care of itself, but the present will slip by, unnoticed, if we don't deliberately pay heed to the details.

I hope you enjoy the "Anticipation" issue of Mosaic Minds. As always, we have collected several essays dedicated to the theme. Our poetry section is filled to capacity and our short story section has three tales you won't want to miss. Our columnists have all been working overtime to bring you new recipes, a craft that will make you feel pretty, ideas on ways to make the most out of your paper use and many other stories that may teach you something new or provide food for thought.