I want to be able to work and I want to be able to write. I can’t do either, but I can make my Mom’s Strawberry Frosted cupcakes.
These are the cupcakes she made for our birthdays when we three girls were little. They are the prettiest cupcakes in the world: pale pink sweet fluffy cream with dots of speckled deep red strawberry. Imagine being a little girl and getting those on your birthday! They are like pink tutus made out of magical silky soft fabric: pink tutus that smell as good as your mother and taste like love.
I want to bathe in my mother’s perfume, and smell the kitchen on those Sunday afternoons when she would make roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. I want to hide in her closet with the bottoms of her dresses tickling my face, and I want to be enveloped by her arms in the most delicious hug in the world.
But all I can do is bake the cupcakes and remember the way she would say, “Oh, Smudgery” when I most needed to hear it. I need to hear it now, Mom.
I am about to tell you the most un-cool thing in the world: I had a happy childhood. I know, I know. I must be suppressing something terrible, right? But I loved baking cookies after school with my Mom, and I loved the way she made me feel like the most interesting, smart, insightful, talented and beautiful child on earth.
As a mother, I can look at what she gave me and marvel that she managed to make my sisters and me each feel that special—but never came close to spoiling us. We had chores, and a job chart to delineate them, and my mother was a task master about it. When we were teens, our boyfriends would have to sit and wait for us in the den while she inspected the pots and pans to be sure they were cleaned to her very high standards. It was mortifying when we had to re-scrub them and keep the boys waiting, but I thank her for it now. She taught me how to set standards and live up to them: perhaps not about sparkling pans, but always about attention to detail and striving for the best.
But I am supposed to be writing about Strawberry Frosted cupcakes, and I have digressed.
I made the cupcakes you see in the photo above with my daughter, Rachel. We made four dozen of them this past Sunday morning to serve to friends and family who were coming that afternoon to pay their condolences.
On Sunday, when I was numbed with shock and couldn’t think what to do next, my Rachel would tell me. Perhaps I looked ashamed, or maybe just lost, because she occasionally said, “It’s okay not to know, Mom. You just lost your mother”. But even though sweet 24-year old Rachel lost her soul mate– the one person in whom she could confide about her frustrations with me and the rest of the world– she understood that I had lost my mother. And she gently guided me through that morning; we made cupcakes while my son Zak and (husband) Ebo set tables and chairs around the rooms, put up a giant pot of coffee and set out platters of cookies. And I, who can throw together dinner for 20 in my sleep, had no idea how to organize the tasks to get the table set and the food laid out. But the three of them answered the doorbell all morning long, and seemed to know just what to do with the deliveries of fruit and cookies and cakes and even dinner. They set out the platters my friends ordered, and soon caring people streamed in.
For the record, I wasn’t supposed to lose my mother yet. She and my Dad were on the third day of their three and a half month cruise around the world: they were at their first port of call (the island of Dominica) when a tour bus hit her. She was flown by a Lear jet outfitted like a hospital (aka medi-vac) to Yale New Haven Hospital (an institution staffed by angels, gods and goddesses) where they did their very best to save her. My sisters and I met my Dad in the hospital just after they landed; every three hours or so a doctor would give us an update. This went on for 36 hours.
Finally she was stable and the trauma doctors proposed a course of treatment. The big questions were whether they could save her leg and if she would ever walk again.
For ten days, my sisters and I rallied around taking care of Dad and Mom and their luggage and the myriad of details that consumed our brains. We lived from surgery to surgery, holding our breath through six procedures in the operating room.
And then one glorious day, the surgeon came out from the OR to tell us he had every reason to believe Mom would walk again. It would take some real work on her part, he said, but clearly a woman of her age who embarked on a 112-day cruise around the world has the gumption it would take to get on her feet again.
My Dad and I fist-bumped. We grinned. We used his iPad to message everyone, and we celebrated, though with some restraint. After all, it wasn’t like it would be smooth sailing. But finally—finally, after all these long, sleepless nights and days of fear, we had reason to believe the world would re-align.
I spent the afternoon with my (finally conscious!) mother. We talked and laughed; she teased me and told me stories about the people on the ship; she fretted about her belongings and her hero for these last 57 years, my father. We talked some more until she was finally too tired to keep her eyes opened; I headed back home that night to see my husband and kids and get clean clothes.
And then a black cloud laden with shards of ice and torrential driving rains made its way over our heads; infection was taking over her body. I raced back to New Haven.
Two days later, my mother, the indomitable Jane Nunes Vas Perry, died.
My father, sisters and I shuffled through the dank cave of funeral arrangements and caskets and phone calls. We wrote eulogies and shared pain; we lived on troubled sleep. At some point through all this, I began to think about those Strawberry Frosted cupcakes. We trudged through the funeral day and subsequent shivas* and finally, last Saturday night after dinner, we wound our way home.
It has been a great comfort to me to hear from friends near and far; friends of my mother’s and friends of mine who appreciated my mother’s lively spirit, sharp intellect, compassion and wit. Every email, visit, note and phone call I received from friends and colleagues through this has touched me with the knowledge of how fortunate I am.
But I would trade it all for just one more year with my mother—for just one last opportunity to bake those beautiful cupcakes with her again.
Cupcakes with Strawberry Frosting
Cup Cakes (Crinkle Cup Recipe)
makes 18 cupcakes
1/2 cup (1/4 pound) butter at room temperature
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cups cake flour, (such as Swan’s), sifted
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup milk
- Preheat oven to 375F. Line 18 cupcake tins with paper liners. (Fill remaining cups with 1/2-inch water).
- Cream butter; add sugar and cream well; add eggs one at a time; beat mixture well. Add sifted flour and baking powder and milk alternatively to batter; add vanilla.
- Fill crinkle cup liners abut halfway with batter; bake 20-25 minutes until a toothpick stuck in the center of the cupcake is clean. Let cool completely before icing.
Strawberry Frosting
frosts 18 cupcakes
8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter, softened at room temperature
4 ounces cream cheese, softened at room temperature
1 3/4 cups confectioner’s sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
5-6 strawberries, coarsely chopped in 1/2-inch pieces
1. Cream the butter and cream cheese until lightl and fluffy; add the sugar and cream again. Add the lemon juice and vanilla; cream until thoroughly combined. Add the strawberries and mix on low speed until they are mashed in 1/4-inch pieces and the frosting is a beautiful shade of pink.
*Shiva is the Jewish tradition of staying home in the week following a funeral as friends, neighbors, acquaintances and relatives visit to pay their condolences.
Jane would have loved this blog.
WOW…you did it again. Straight from your heart and straight to our hearts. Simply amazing.
A lovely tribute. Welcome back Marge.
Thankyou for sharing about your mom and her cupcakes! So nice to see your blog this morning… I’ve had all of you in my thoughts and prayers. Sweet memories Marge.
I WILL NEVER LOOK AT A STRAWBERRY CUPCAKE AGAIN WITHOUT REMEMBERING THIS BEAUTIFULLY TOLD AND VERY PAINFUL STORY ABOUT YOUR AMAZING MOM.
One of the greatest gifts in my life has been the friendship that Tracy and I have shared with you and David. As a part of this we have been included in many occasions when Jane and Bernie where a part of the celebration. I came to know-love-and respect them as very special people. I was also privileged to have one of these luscious cupcakes on Sunday.. What a fitting tribute !!!!!!
I had one of those cupcakes on Sunday. They were delicious…and now even sweeter with this blog. Hope you’re settling in to what is now normal. xo
I am so very sorry for your loss. I am grateful that you could put these words together, along with the cupcakes and the photograph of them. So moving to read this and think of your mother’s life and presence in your world. Opens my heart. Please let me know if I can do anything for you and your family, now and later.
A beautiful tribute to a lady who was clearly as lovely and vibrant as her daughter.
Marge, I don’t know you but I found your blog through Nancie McDermott’s FB page. I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing a beautiful story about a beautiful woman and her family. My heart goes out to you.
Marge, so sorry to hear about the loss of your mom. What a wonderful tribute you’ve written, and what a wonderful lady she must have been. My prayers go out to you and your family for God’s peace and grace to carry you through. I know you have many happy memories to live on with. Similar memories still get me through 20 years after losing my dad. I still learn from him and take wisdom from him today! Pray you’ll see evidence you’re doing the same with your mom soon!
Very moving.
Oh Marge. I can’t wait to make this perfectly pretty cupcakes with Ella while thinking about Liam.
XO
G
She was an amazing woman who I loved like she was my own mother. Filled with goodness and love her presence lit up the room. One of my fondest memories will always be of her 80th birthday last summer when she relished in her family and laughed heartily as the drag queens at Lucky Cheng’s fawned all over her. Miss you Jane. XO Ebo
Marge I am so incredibly sorry for your loss, but thank you for sharing your story and this recipe. I can’t wait to make them with my own 3-year old Rachel.
So, so sorry for your loss. Your mom sounds like an absolutely amazing woman. No matter how old or young our mothers are, life just isn’t the same without them to watch over us. I’ll make these cupcakes for little Miss Ava and tell her why they are special.
THIS post has left an incredible loving mark on my soul and in my heart. Just as your mother did for you. With strawberry cupcakes…..and oh so much more!!!! May God lay peace over you and yours. God speed. Many blessings.
~ Meli
Joy she gave, joy she has found.
Dearest Marge,
It is said that in our darkest times we have the ability of transforming our pain to reach a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. Heartfelt thanks for sharing your tribute. My heart aches for you.
I am so sorry for your loss, but so glad for your memories. I hope you’ll find them a comfort always.
Marge, I am so sorry to hear this sad news. When my father died, I had an extremely hard time writing. You have written a beautiful tribute to your mother. Hugs and love to you, David and your family.
What a lovely tribute to and celebration of your mother. You have my every condolence for your loss and my every wish for strength and solace in your sadness. And memories like these make those we loved immortal.
That was a breathtakingly beautiful homage to your mom. Now, I want to bake these cupcakes and hold the ones I love very tight. So thank you for that. I’m so sorry for what you’re gong through right now.
What a beautiful tribute, Marge. I’m so sorry for your loss. Your mom sounds like an incredible woman who has left a lasting legacy that you and your family will cherish always. I’m sorry I haven’t had the opportunity to express my condolences earlier. Please accept my heartfelt wishes now. As a motherless daughter, I have a small inkling of how you feel.
my eyes filled with tears when you shared the story of the strawberry cupcakes on sunday… but tears are streaming down my cheeks as i read this lovely tribute tonight…
i intend to bake these cupcakes with my mother for valentines day (instead of the “famous” chocolate cookie log) and give them to everyone i love in honor of you, rachel, your mom, and family et al…
please be patient with yourself, grief is a beast… eventually, in time the fog will lift (although it always hovers) and you will see clearly again: “gone are the dark clouds that had me blind… its gonna be a bright bright sun shiney day”…
love you! xoxo
I saw those strawberry cupcakes Sunday and felt the love and loss you had as you and Rachael baked them. You alway write from the heart and this truly brings tears. Cherish those memories. xoxo
Beautifully stated, Marge. Thank you so much for sharing… I hope it brings you some peace. Your mother sounds like a truly amazing woman.
You certainly have touched me with your words. I am so sorry for you and your family. Such a tragedy! Hope to see you next time I go back east. Love, Debbie
Marge, I sit here with tears, for you, rachel and your sisters. Too soon, too fast, so unimaginable. And I share your profound feelings of emptiness on most days and only hope that for both of us that in grief we remember laughter, love and sweet memories until the sadness is gone.
Dear Marge: I am so sorry for your loss. Sending you hugs and good thoughts. It’s another incident where I so miss NYACT, so we could be there for each other in our sadnesses.
What a lovely tribute to your Mom. I can tell what a wonderful person and Mom she was. When the clouds part, you will be left with a lifetime of memories and strawberry cupcakes. xoxo June
Thanks for sharing these wonderful glimpses of your mom with those of us who were not lucky enough to know her. But we do know you, and what a priceless gift that is. I hope you are feeling the love and support of your many friends and colleagues. Strawberry Cupcakes forever!
So sorry for your loss. How blessed you are to have had such a life with her.
Oh Marge. That really made me cry. I’m not much of a baker, but I’m going to make these cupcakes. I want my children to remember something as sweet and wonderful as this. And as your mom must have been. And when I bake them, I’ll tell my 3 the story of your mom and her magical cupcakes.
Marge, I’m so sorry to hear about your mom. It sounds like you have an incredible relationship. I say “have” because I know it will live on. Thinking of you and your family and sending big hugs.
What an amazing tribute to your mom…and now you’ve got me started. My mom passed away in ’04. I still miss her terribly, but cling to the sweet memories you have. Those are what gets me through. Thanks for sharing…
I am so sorry for your loss, Debbie. I look forward to the time when the sweet memories come without less pain of loss. I know it will happen…and I know it will take time. Thank you for reminding me that missing her will not diminish, but it will change.
Thank you. For sharing your sadness and your great huge love with strangers. Thank you for giving me pause, and cause to hold my loved ones dear and remember those gone. To be humble and grateful. My hunt for strawberry frosting is over. Thank you for that, too.
Hi Marge….
Today, I am reminded of how short life really is and how important it is to spend time with my loved ones. I’m always too busy… Although sad, after reading your blog which reveals your undying love for your mother… I’m going to make it my business to find more time to be with my own. I am eternally grateful for the message that has been channeled to me thru you. Blessings and strength to you and your family now and always…. Happy Pasach. Aliyah
Aliyah,
As I read your lovely note, the words to Joni Mitchell’s song, “Don’t it always seem to go, you dont know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot” ran through my head. I must have been humming aloud as I was cooking in preparation for Passover because the next thing I knew, my husband put it on the stereo.
It is so true. If you can find pleasure in that annoying bit that your mother does simply because it is your mother’s; if you hug her one extra time; or tell her you love her or appreciate her…well, all I know is that you will never regret it.
Thank you, Aliyah, for all you do. And for taking the time to write.
Marge
Hello Marge,
I found your story/recipe while looking for Strawberry Frosting. I found it very moving and I can’t believe you’re so strong in putting the whole story in words and online.
I am definately going to make your frosting now, just had a question about the confectionary (icing as we call it in the UK) sugar. You put down 1 3/4, but of what? Ounces? Pounds? I doubt the last one, but ounces seems not like a lot. Could you let me know?
Thank you for sharing your story with us and I’m sorry for your loss.
Oh dear– that was a typo I thought I had corrected! It is 1 3/4 cups…and thank you for your kind words and condolences. I hope when you bake these, you can think appreciative thoughts about your mother…
i just wanted a chicken recipe, and now you made me cry. very touching post
Thank you (?). It has been five months now, and I still miss my mother like crazy. I am not as raw and jagged as I once was, but even at my best moments, I feel sad in my bones. I trust all the people who have said it gets easier…
Marge,
So thrilled to have found your site, (have loved several of your tips and recipes) and today to read your blog about your Mother. Wonderful statements and powerful images about what a great person she was and how strong your family is. I cannot wait to make these cupcakes! My daughter is a dancer and currently in the throws of auditioning for colleges and the “pink tutus” will be perfect for her! Thank YOU!
It feels so good to think of a daughter, young or old, being thrilled by those cupcakes. Your timing is so wonderful, too, as this is the week that marks one year since my mother’s death. It is a very hard week for me (for all of us) but it is made so much better when I think of people carrying on some of the traditions that came from my mother’s heart. Thank you, Becky. I wish your daughter the best of luck in pursuing her dreams.