This is an extract from The Rosicrucian #89 (Aug 2022)

True friendships are wonderful treasures to be found on Life’s highways and byways, nuggets to be nurtured and valued for the richness they bring to our souls. Unfortunately, few of us are perfect at tending them properly and giving them the time they need to flourish and thrive. They frequently wither from neglect as we set them aside to shoulder the sundry responsibilities and pressures which beset people of all generations, especially family commitments and careers.

One of the chief reasons many good friendships wilt is the appearance of a ‘life partner’, possibly a ‘soul mate’ but definitely a distraction. When that happens, many of us succumb to the charms and put them first, last and throughout the middle of who we want to spend time with. And those who have been faithful companions, the ones we can gossip to on the phone or book a three coffee lunch, are abandoned to the new ‘Great One’ in our lives. It was a great piece of advice from the author of a book on Celtic Runes, Ralph Blum, to “let the winds of heaven dance between you.” Unfortunately the newly besotted rarely do!

A while ago an old friend I had long since shelved came to my door with a covered bowl and announced she was presenting me with a friendship cake; a German friendship cake who goes by the name of Herman and has been circling the globe much like a chain letter since…, probably not long after time began. The bowl contained a hunk of dough and a handwritten list of instructions for Herman’s future welfare, to be carried out over the ensuing 10 days.

We giggled as I read out the sheet beginning with the warning: “My name is Herman. I am a sour dough cake and I need to be kept on your worktop for 10 days without a lid on. I will die if you put me in the fridge! I will die if I stop bubbling.” The rules demand Herman should be placed in a two litre bowl and covered with a tea towel. He needs stirring well on days two and three, and must be fed specific amounts of flour, sugar and milk before being stirred senseless and put back to sleep again under his tea towel blanket.

Days five, six, seven and eight requires more vigorous mixing to keep the dough alive and sticking. On day nine he gets hungry again and requires more flour, sugar and milk to curb his appetite. At this point you divide the goo into four equal portions, give three away to friends with copies of the instructions and add to the portion you keep an array of cake contents including eggs, spices, oil, chopped apples, nuts and raisins before baking him out of his old life and serving him up in the new, adorned with fresh cream.

For the first two days I was charmed, but on day three I forgot him entirely and on the fourth day found myself rescuing him from a dying breath at the 11th hour, literally 11pm, with the top up ingredients. Cutting a 10-day story by half, I decided I didn’t like Herman much at all. It was like being in charge of a tyrannical virtual pet, like a Tamagotchi of the sort that were frequently banned from 1990s British classrooms because frustrated teachers were having their lessons disrupted by students feeding and exercising their electronic wards. I didn’t like the responsibility of looking after him, pandering to his needs or the space that he was taking up in my modest kitchen.

I might have wanted to hang him – out for the birds, possibly – but did I really want to draw and quarter Herman and distribute him to my friends? And did I later want to add a tenner’s worth of ingredients to his slobby, mish-mash, squish-squash body for a dish days hence, marginally less appealing than tripe with custard? Before you answer, bear in mind that the last time I cooked a cake I had pigtails and a school uniform and I’m now drawing a pension.

In a heartless moment of resolute decision I tossed Herman mercilessly into the bin along with the contents of the vacuum cleaner. Herman bit the dust, his final bubbles were burst. But Herman lives on in the kitchens of countless victims of unfulfilled friendship, and online too at the touch of a search engine. Look him up if you’d like to make his acquaintance. I won’t be responsible for his actions by giving you the recipe.

In a heartless moment of resolute decision I tossed Herman mercilessly into the bin along with the contents of the vacuum cleaner.

Friends, readers, I can tell you from experience: if you like someone and value them, then give what really shows what they bring to your life. Give them time, a conversation, a listening ear or a gift that comes with no responsibilities and no guilt trip attached. Give them a call, write them a letter, send a card. Ask them out to lunch. Invite them to share a convivial bottle of wine, and debate enthusiastically the things that matter in life, or the things that don’t, particularly! Share an outing, share a meditation journey, share whatever you’ve got in your pantry that cooks in 20 minutes and disappears with the washing up. But whatever you decide to do to foster this amazing faculty we call friendship, don’t give them a Friendship Cake!