The sky opened early this morn, sprinkling miniature shrubbery of forest green with flakes of dry white. Peeking outside from the inside of kitchen warmth, I was reminded of a silver-colored tin, bigger than a soup can, yet smaller than a breadbox. It had a red-painted handle to the side, making it easy for hands of little ones to grab and hold and shake. When turned upside down, magicdust sprinkled from the top of it.
My grandmother was a true gift in my life. For most of her years on this earth, she loved to bake. It is without hesitation to say that she was the best I ever knew. Everything escaping from her oven door was stirred and whipped from scratch. Years and years of recipes had been handed down to her from my Swedish Great-Grandmother.
My grandma was the very best at baking cookies, pies and cakes. …
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