The Ouija Board Cupcake Tray

A few years ago, I wrote short stories about moments in my life that shaped who I am. Some are funny, some are tender, and all are filled with gratitude. This little anecdote perfectly captures the beauty, uniqueness, and lovable weirdness of my magnificent mom.

Let’s start here:
I am a baker.

Not a professional baker, but a woman who knows how to mix up the perfect cookie. Not just good. Perfect. My cookies have earned that title more than once. Don’t envy—just enjoy.

My mom loved to bake too. She taught me that birthdays deserve baked goods, and I’ve kept that tradition alive. Friends, family, even coworkers I like enough—all get homemade birthday treats. (Maybe my love of birthdays is linked to my astrology obsession… but that’s a story for another day.)

Back to Mom.

She had a few legendary recipes—like Emmie Miller’s pound cake. Nobody knew who Emmie Miller was, but her pound cake had icon status in our house. First name only, like a celebrity. You couldn’t go wrong with Emmie.

Mom was also a room mother. For eight kids. She did it all—school newsletters, softball coaching (even though she didn’t know the rules), sewing costumes, and yes, birthday cupcakes. This was back in the days when no one worried about gluten or peanut allergies, and kids could drink bright red Hawaiian Punch and live to tell the tale.

Now here’s where it gets... uniquely “Mom.”

For my 6th birthday, we were planning a big Mickey Mouse theme party, but on the actual school day, Mom sent me in with a tray of cupcakes to share with my class. And not just any cupcakes—magical cupcakes. Yellow cake with rich, swirled milk chocolate frosting—my favorite. But the real magic? The tray.

See, the cupcake tray was actually... a Ouija board.

Not a toy Ouija board. No. Mom had taken the back of a large metal Tupperware serving tray and etched into it:

YES NO

A B C D E F G H I J K L M

N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0

GOODBYE

This was the same tray Mom used with her girlfriends during their “sex and booze” club nights (as Dad affectionately called them) to contact loved ones on the other side.

Naturally, I didn’t think anything of it. That was our cupcake tray! Sometimes it had hamburgers on it. Sometimes it summoned spirits. Same thing.

So I walked into class, handed the tray to Ms. Grass, my first-grade teacher, and she recoiled like it was on fire.

“What is that?” she asked, alarmed.

“It’s a cupcake tray,” I answered, completely unfazed.

“What does it say on the bottom?” she asked, already suspicious.

“That’s what my Mommy uses to talk to Grandma and Uncle Johnny’s angels. And also sometimes we use it for hamburgers,” I said, proud and innocent.

Ms. Grass clutched her chest, stepped back in horror, and pointed for me to place the tray on the corner table. She didn’t touch it again.

At recess, we came back in, and the class sang happy birthday to me. I beamed in my pink construction paper crown and chubby girl blue corduroy jumper from Sears. Life was good. I was six, and I was eating cupcakes. The dream.

But Ms. Grass? She never touched a single one.

That tray stuck around for a few more years before it mysteriously disappeared. I like to think it got retired with honor. But more likely, Mom had a flash of Catholic school guilt and tossed it.

Still, I think about that tray sometimes. And I smile.

Because if that story doesn’t sum up the brilliant, eccentric, deeply loving woman who raised me—I don’t know what does.