“Bake it with love, or don’t bake it at all.”
She’d laugh her teakettle laugh and kiss the top of my head.
Daniel was there too, but he didn’t care about baking. He cared about eating. He’d sit at the kitchen table with his chin in his hands, watching the oven like a hawk, waiting for the timer to go off.
Ezoic
“Is it done yet, Grandma?”
“Not yet, sweetheart.”
“Now?”
“Two more minutes.”
“Now?”
She’d give him the beaters to lick, just to keep him quiet. He’d end up with chocolate all over his face. She’d wipe it off with the corner of her apron and call him her little raccoon.
My grandfather died when I was twelve. A stroke. Very sudden. One minute he was out in the garden pruning the lemon tree, and the next he was gone.
Ezoic
Grandma didn’t bake for a month after the funeral.
