So we’ve been away from the blog for awhile. ….Ok, like, over a year awhile…
But here’s what happened.
Our website got highjacked and random content and comments were being dropped in, and we didn’t know how to fix it. Then Kristina’s husband came to our technically challenged rescue and brought back our beloved blog. But at this point, Kristina was in her most productive and inspiring work year as a photographer, and I was, well, bouncing around… traveling with my husband, teaching Pilates, trying to find the “right” time to write.
We would call each other every week (as we always do) and express how much we couldn’t wait to get the blog back up and running, but somehow we couldn’t remember how to run anymore. Or we were distracted. Or we were nervous.
When things with our website went south we had left off in a place we never really thought we’d be: where people were reading what we wrote. And not just our dear aunts, friends, and other family. People we had never known, asking us questions about periods, IUDs, and Infertility. We felt responsibility. We didn’t want to come back with something less than inspiring, but felt mind blocked at what that amazing topic to write about would be. And I think that’s when insecurity set in (at least for me). Suddenly, we just didn’t know what to say. And when time came passing (as it always does) we got more and more comfortable with not doing anything, and more and more nervous about what our first “welcome back” article would be. Would anyone really care if we ever wrote again? Probably not. Would we care if we ever wrote again? Probably, yes.
And then, as if fate had designed it, we both had trips planned, to different places, but at the same time. And we both said “I’ll write on this trip.” But we didn’t know what about, or how we would get our stride back. But in my time away with spotty WiFi, and not being able to talk to Kristina in the first time in a long time, I suddenly remembered why we were doing this.
We started this not to be “noticed” but simply to share our stories. We just wanted to create a space to share the things that interested and impacted us. To have a project together, because we miss each other, because we’ve been best friends for 25+ years and in that time we’ve collected moments we know others can relate to. Because we are just as lost in the world as anyone else and wouldn’t it be nice to have a safe place to share? Silly things, important things… anything. Just to share.
We decided to call this blog ‘Cake On The Floor’ (*because Strawberries & Blonde was taken) because there was a time in our young past where we were doing just that; sharing cake and stories on a kitchen floor…
Aberdeen will always be my Home. A large part of me will always identify with it, with where I grew up, and with being a Washingtonian. Moving from my small town was a gift and a curse. I was so excited to get out, to see the city of Portland, where my family moved (to the suburbs at least) when I was just about to go into High School, but I was also devastated, broken, to leave the only group of friends I had ever known. In particular, Kristina.
From the moment we met, being mutually babysat at our friend Kelly’s house, we were pretty inseparable. Two curious and precocious 5 year olds who just knew we needed to march to the beat of our own drum. We invented games together, created our own radio show (that we recorded onto cassette tapes), started multiple small business (door-to-door flower sales, door-to-door hand made art sales, door-to-door you name it we tried it sales), wrote viola and saxophone duets when we got into band and orchestra (yes, they were terrible), and attempted to rid the entire town of littered trash in one afternoon because there had been a very motivating Earth Day speech given at school that day (we ended up falling into a metal grate and getting wounded, but we did collect a lot of trash). And this was all just in grade school. During these crazy fun, fantasy fulled childhood years, Kristina and I got so accustomed to going to and being at eachother’s houses, our parents practically stopped asking where we were going or what we were doing. We always craved independence and liked doing as much for ourselves as we could, so our parent’s allowance to let us “be” was always appreciated.
One night when we were about 10 years old, Kristina was sleeping over and we had been up for endless hours talking about everything we could possibly think of, which was what we usually did. We had been up for so long that our stomachs started growling, so we snuck into the kitchen for a midnight snack. There wasn’t much in the fridge, so I started to rummage through my mom’s cupboards. As I came upon a box of cake mix, we got wide sly grins simultaneously and, as if instantly, the oven was on. We felt like such rebels as we baked; everyone, the whole world asleep, but the two of us still up and full of life, and baking a cake no less. Was it confetti cake or yellow cake with chocolate frosting? Now, I can’t remember. But I do remember us tossing our tired bodies onto the kitchen floor once it was done, and bringing the cake with us. We sat and ate, shared more stories, and laughed at our bakery on the floor.
Fast forward a few years and that kitchen, with everything from my Mother’s cupboards, was packed up and heading to Oregon along with the rest of my life. I moved in with Kristina for almost two weeks after my parents left, so that I could finish out my 8th grade basketball season as captain of my team, and also to suck the marrow out of every moment I could with the peers I truly loved.
In untraditional Aberdeen fashion, it snowed the day I had to leave Kristina. We stood on her Dad’s deck shouting at the flakes in the wind “It’s a SIGN! A SIGN!!!” We knew everything was wrong. “You’re not supposed to leave. ITS SNOWING.” Kristina said into my eyes. And somewhere in the back of my mind I thought “No. I’m just so sad I made the town feel it. I made it snow. My broken heart made it snow.” I didn’t know how to leave. I still don’t.
We dedicated ourselves to writing letters, saving up for long distance phone cards (because that was still a thing) and once I got my drivers license, I spent many weekends driving up for Bobcat football games on Fridays and making it home for my new friends, my new life, by Monday.
I struggled with separating from the pack I had created, and who had created so much of me, and especially from my best friend, who always gave me a safe space to fall, who knew everything about me, every secret, and always kept it.
So once Kristina got her license too, the freeway didn’t know what hit it. Me to her, her to me, swapping stories about what was going on in each of our new lives while trying not to lose our past. It was as if everything was happening, because it was; we were teenage girls becoming ourselves, finding out and building who we were. Somewhere in all of this, on a trip Kristina made to see me, we got it in our minds to bake a cake again, just like we used to in Aberdeen.
She got in late, and we were starving (as teenage girls are) but nothing sounded good and Kristina had some fresh stories to tell me about our friends back home, so we needed to come up with something to satiate our literal appetites while Kristina would feed our appetite for information. There was no waiting for tomorrow. Like history repeating, I rummaged through the cupboards and finally fell upon and pulled out a confetti cake mix, found a can of frosting, and held it out as a hopeful possibility. We cracked those same wide, sly grins and began baking. Stories swirled around my mother’s kitchen, and by the time we had it in the oven we were getting tired and decided to just lay on the kitchen floor, keep talking, and wait.
Once the cake was baked we didn’t bother with plates or tables. The floor had once again become a conference room just for us. The whole world seemed asleep, but we were energized, so much to share, so much to say. So we tossed it on the floor where we sat/laid, and laughed, and maybe cried, about all the things going on in our lives, and yes, we ate cake.
We always thought we’d go to college together, but no. That we would end up neighbors, but no. That we would at least live in the same state, but no. And so the drives turned into plane flights the farther and father we eventually moved from one another, but somehow, “we” didn’t change.
We committed a long time ago to being best friends. We took it seriously. And there are few relationships I could ever say even hold a candle to my dedication to her. I just want to share my stories with her. And I miss her, all the time. Having a friend that has never let you down is a rarity. And don’t get me wrong, its not that we didn’t have disagreements (over boys, over changing ideals, over life in general) but we knew who the other one was, and no matter the issue, we committed to solving it. She has taught me so much about patience, persistence, kindness, and most of all, about myself.
As adults, realizing that we might not ever be as close in physical proximity as we were in Aberdeen, we just needed something. And so we got it our minds to start a blog. For truly no other reason than to remember our own stories and have something to share with one another… and we hoped, that maybe what we shared would matter to someone else too.
So here we are, back on the floor, with a piece of cake, ready to share.
For those of you that have continued to check in on us (the blog that is) during our hiatus, we are so flattered and thankful and hope that what we continue to produce connects with you, and by all means, please share/connect with us too. For those of you reading this (us) for the first time, WELCOME and thank you. We continue to hope that this space will provide a place to communicate about light things, and maybe not so light things, and really just about all the things that make up our lives, make up who we are, make up our friendship.
Cake can take awhile to bake, and we definitely took our time.
So again, THANK YOU for your patience, and we hope you enjoy each future slice of Cake On The Floor with us. We’re so excited to be back to share with you.
XX – Sarah (& Kristina)