I started baking when I was small. I would bake with my Grandma. At Christmas time, we would bake big. And complicated. And fun. It would take all day. And sometimes into the night.
I would sleep over. She'd let me drink Kay-O late at night. She made toast with butter and honey for a snack. She read me stories. She knitted me sweaters (I still wear the hat that matched the green and blue stripped one). She'd take me to Burger Chef to get French toast for breakfast. Let let me go to the library with her while she was working (and sometimes drink a bottle of orange soda from the little refrigerator behind the desk). She took me to see My Fair Lady at the high school, then played the songs on her piano so we could sing them. When she was in Florida, she would tape record herself reading stories and send them to me. We always heard Lay Down Sally on the radio when we were falling asleep.
She passed away when I was in fourth grade. And I miss her every day.
But every Christmas time, we have a date. She meets me in my kitchen, and we bake, just like we used to.
I'm so glad she can make it, even if it's not quite the same.