Ramblings from the Cupcake Creator
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An old Cherokee chief was teaching his grandson about life.  “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.  “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.  One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego.  The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.”  The same fight is going on inside you and inside every other person too.  The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”  The old chief simply replied, “The one you feed.” –Author Unknown 

A few years back, a cousin (too young to remember our grandmother well) started probing me with questions about her.  She blurted out, “Was she angry?”  As it turned out, my cousin was exploring her own anger issues and was searching for a genealogical link.  I regaled her with stories about Grandma and her son, my father.  At the time, through the prism of time passage, the stories seemed amusing.  In reality, however, most really were not. 

 I should have followed my cousin’s introspective lead at that point and evaluated the toll such events had on my development, but instead they were dismissed.  Comparatively speaking, she is fortunate to have started tackling her emotional shortcomings in her twenties.  I’m headed for the backside of my forties still grappling with my own anger.  As the single mother of a nine year old, the impetus for serious reflection was borne out of not wanting to damage my daughter’s disposition.  I can no longer ignore that which has been repressed.

 Some of my childhood stories are best not shared publicly, but what could be the harm in sharing what a family trip to the movies was like?  It was the 1970’s in the tiny upstairs theater at The Crest in El Centro, California – the movie playing was Jesus Christ Superstar.  Fortunately, it was a musical, had it been a Bruce Lee movie, the testosterone in the room might have escalated the situation.

 The theater was packed, so my sister and I had to sit separately from my parents.  My dad had no patience for people who talk during a movie.  Once, he threw a popcorn box at an offending teen.  I guess to have asked an usher to intervene might have meant missing an integral plot point.  On this occasion, as King Herod danced across the screen, my father stood up and shouted at the crowd to stop talking.  I don’t recall the words used, but I’m sure colorful language was involved, and in front of ‘Jesus’ no less.  My most vivid recollection of the verbal bashing was my utter relief at the fact that I was seated a good 15 feet away from him.  From that vantage point, I felt like a completely unrelated movie patron watching a crazy rant.  Good times, good times.

 My own child is about the age I was when Yvonne Elliman crooned I Don’t Know How to Love Him in that tiny movie house.  I wonder if my daughter has ever witnessed an equally emotional outburst as depicted by her own mother?  I hope I can securely claim she has not, but I know I have likely left a damaging impression or two on her when it comes to being impatient.  So, in an effort to keep her from dragging me into a therapist’s office one day, I have chosen this very public venue to commence my personal pilgrimage for inner harmony.

 My health insurance coverage will hardly cover the cost of extracting a wonky toenail, so exploration of the depths of my personality through therapy is out of the question.  A year long sabbatical to Bali (coupled with massage and yoga) would likely help, but the responsibility of the mortgage and parenting prevents such bliss and relaxation at this time.

 Most of you that know me personally, would describe me as highly independent.  Therefore, independently (via the very public internet) I am attempting to tame my inner demons.  I am completely open to input and intervention, particularly if it involves a house call from the very dreamy Dr. Drew Pinsky.

 My child and my art are my great joys.  I am embracing them as the source of my strength and power – through this, Raging Cupcakes has evolved.  I created my line of angry cupcake cards and images as a way of lessening the severity of situations that could potentially unhinge the “Real Housewife of New Jersey” that resides in many of us.  I find it has actually helped me gain perspective and I hope others can find a benefit from approaching negative emotions through humor and art.

 When I first read the Cherokee parable written above, it seemed to speak specifically to what I am going through.  I’m sure others can relate to its relevance.  My hope for this blog and website is that it can be a place where we can feed the ‘happy’ wolf inside us.  I hope to provide something for all ages and a home for people to share stories of inner peace and emotional triumph.

 There are few situations in life that cannot be improved upon with the inclusion of baked goods.  Cupcakes, even those of the raging variety, are intended to be shared.  That is why they are compact, portable and do not require a fork!  Bon appétit.

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