I’ve been telling people for years, especially when my work becomes difficult, that I dream of moving to the coast, buying a lovely little storefront, and opening a shop that sells…CAKE PLATES.

I emphasize that we would only sell cake plates — not cake, not piping utensils, not cake knifes nor napkins.

There will be no aisles, just five levels of shelves that run along the walls of the entire space. The darling plates we will display a single layer deep and the lighting will inspire even Transcendentalists to find comfort in a gently pedestalled platter meant for cake and only cake.

The dear town that hosts us will become Destination-Cake-Plate. People will either travel to our beachfront town with the purpose of visiting our shop or stumble across our visionary store and forget entirely all other reasons for visiting the beach.

We will travel the world in search of beautiful, flouncy plates and send orders across the globe. But that’s all we will do — CAKE PLATES. And when it turns 5:00 and the sun makes its way across the plane of the sea, we will turn our sign to Closed and walk barefoot to our sand-strewn cottage beside the shore.

Isn’t it dreamy? A life like that?

And then I remember, it could never make me happy. Not for long, anyway. And my childhood lessons from the Parable of the Talents invade my daydream, and I put my cake plates on the shelf for another day.


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