Texas Cake

I have a potluck tonight so I am, of course, making Texas Cake.  Texas cake is a very simple cake to make and one that I have known all my life.  My mom used to make it for so many events.  Family picnics, church potlucks, just because in the summer when the milk went sour.  In fact, I am pretty sure that the potluck alphabet divisions were done in such a way that S always brought dessert so that Mom would bring Texas cake or pie.  She often brought both.
From a young age I learned that a potluck or picnic required, yes required a home made dish from my mom.  Forget that fact that she worked a full time job and had five kids running amok.  She always brought a homemade dish, usually several.  As the kids grew older, it would fall on Crissy to make something if Mom had to work, but it was always homemade.  Of course, the only things we would usually eat at the potluck was the food my mom brought, I suppose that is why she always made meatloaf as well.
One of my fondest sound memories is the sounds coming from the kitchen and patio on the morning of the Martin Picnic.  I have no idea what time Mom and Dad got up, long before me, I am sure.  I usually woke up to the sound of Dad on the patio with milk cartons filled with ice.  Ever thrifty, Mom and Dad would fill the empty cartons with water and freeze so they didn't need to buy ice later. Dad would be out on the patio, cigarette hanging from his lip, cup of steaming coffee nearby, banging on the junk of ice.  The cooler would be at the ready to take the ice that would keep the potato salad cool on the way to Hannen Lake. 
Coming down the stairs, I would hear the sounds coming from the kitchen.  The squeak of the sifter handle, the scrap of the leveler on the big wooden cutting board.  The chop chop chop of pickles for the salad. 
The smells would hit at the landing.  The vinegar of the potato salad, the cinnamon of the pie, the brown sugar of the beans.  And the smells didn't mix but each held its own place in the air.  The decent down the stairs bringing a new and mouth watering scent into the nose.  By the time I hit the kitchen door, I knew all that we were taking.  Texas cake, apple pie, baked beans, potato salad and meat loaf. 
Then I would be spotted and put to work.  Usually it was something simple like gathering up my swimsuit and towel and rolling the swimsuit into the towel.  I would try to get out of the house to help Dad because he never put me to work.  All of us kids would be dinking around.  Creating more havoc then help. 
After all was baked and cooked and chilled, the pack up began.  All pans, bowls, spoons and spatulas were labeled with SNOW on medical tape and black felt tip pen.  There are still dishes at home with these pieces of tape on them, or the permanent residue of where the tape once was.  My dad would wrap the meat loaf and beans in newspaper, multiple layers to keep in the heat.  Cooler packed, hot box packed, picnic basket packed, kids packed.  That was the toughest part, who got window, who got way back.  Who sat by Sheila as she bounced. 
This is the part of the story where I get teary eyed.  When I think about my mom and all the little gifts she has left me to unwrap as I grow.  Years from now, my kids won't have this memory because there were no more family picnics.  People became too busy for church socials and school potlucks.  But maybe they will tell their kids about Great Grandma Snow and the great cook she was, her apple pies far superior to anyone's.  Yes, anyone's.  In a homemade crust of flour and lard. 
The Texas cake is cooling.  My heart is warm with my memories.  Hugs from great aunts that I didn't know.  Getting to drink Pepsi from a bottle.  walking on the rocks to get to the lake.  Burning my butt on the hot slide.  Cousins and food.  Funny how Texas cake can bring all that right back to the surface.