John Rogan was 72. Divorced and living alone, which he did not like for the most part but he had managed to convince himself it was for the better. No more arguments with the ex ( well almost none ) but his daughter was now the antagoniser. Only ringing when she wanted something, just like now. His granddaughter was on her way for a night stopover because his daughter had no other choice, or words to that effect. He felt ostracized from everyone who he framed as family. A bit of an afterthought . Invited only on the basis of his former status, and as the years go by it would no doubt become less.

He was not good with kids. He knew he was seen by his grandkids as a bit of a grump " Grumpy Grand pop". Nothing really good would come out of this stay and in some ways the introduction of ipads and online games was a blessing. Sit them down and let them go. They knew all about them and very little was said. No real difference to his days when he was allowed to be seen but not heard.
The sound of closing car doors was upon him a little sooner than he had expected. He saw the approach of his daughter and granddaughter through the lounge window .He opened the door and his daughter was in before there was a hello."Dad, Bec has her Ipad and a change of clothes. Must go . See you tomorrow."

Bec was completely non plussed. She quickly recovered. "Hi Pop, although I have my ipad I was thinking we could do something else". John's panic was palpable. This was not expected. Not part of his script. What on earth could he do? Play ball- God she was not a dog. She was 8 years old with an ever enquiring mind. He was not up to her continuous questions and he knew his tag of Grumpy Pop would be realized.

There was nothing in the old makeshift toy box which could do the job. It was in need of an update to the bin. A quick scan of his surroundings did not provide the immediate answer. The building of a Tent Fort, so popular with his grandson was not the way to go. But, the building or making of something?
"Pop can I have something to eat". He moved to the pantry and reached for an old biscuit tin and there it was- the solution, the saviour- all packaged for immediate use â?" Cake Mix.
He yelled into the pantry " Bec how about making a cake." The response was a little slow in reaching him and he was concerned that it was an idea that had already been dismissed. He need not have worried as when he turned he almost crushed Bec between his legs as she too had become interested in his rummaging of the pantry.
"God Bec take it easy. Have you ever made a Cake?"- Bec already had the packet and was reading the instructions out loud:
"For cake you need: 1 egg, 150ml of water...Pop can we do it please." He was moved to a smile. He had never made a cake in his life, although, he had many times wanted to do so.
"Bec it is a Carrot cake so it should be good for both of us." "Has it got icing?" enquired Bec. Without any further hesitation the search for bowls and baking tins was on with gusto. He did have a lot of kitchen bits and pieces and Bec immersed herself into the lower pantry cupboard with a mission to search and provide. He was able to gather the ingredients and lay them on the kitchen bench. The mixing bowl and baking tin arrived with a crash but still intact.


Bec again read the instructions, asking for help at times, and at the end said "This will be fun Pop. Mum said you were too old to have fun." John was tempted to criticize his daughter but let it go "Well lets prove to her that age has nothing to do with it."
"Yeah let's do that Pop" And so it began.

In went the cake mix, egg, water and vegetable oil and Bec worked the wooden spoon like there was no tomorrow. John had a few turns. The resultant batter splashed onto the kitchen bench, the floor and their faces. It was a hoot and for the first time in a long time John was having fun. Amazingly, there was still enough batter to go into the bake tin and into the oven.

They both waited, talking about how good it would taste and sharing a spoon to "clean" the mixing bowl. The wafting aromas of the cooking cake shifted through the house and their chatter continued until the ring of the telephone intruded upon their fun.
John picked up the phone. It was his daughter and they spoke briefly. He placed the handset down before speaking to Bec. "That was your Mum. She said she would be picking you up later than expected. I told her that was good because we had another cake to make. What flavor for the next one?"
"Chocolate "came the reply.
John delighted in how a few hours and a packet of Cake mix had transformed not only his attitude but his relationship with his granddaughter.

Indeed, it was Magic.