Grandma’s Bakery.

I’d been promising my munchkins cupcakes for going on 3 weeks and finally I had the time to make them. Grandma was over playing with the babies and complaining about my inability to keep up on laundry. She couldn’t understand why on earth I was using a pastry bag to ice my cupcakes. “It would be so much quicker if you just spread it on with a knife! The kids won’t know the difference.” I told her it was because of her.

I grew up spending the night at her house often, and oh how I loved it there. We’d play tic-tac-toe, watch movies & she’d make me fried dippy eggs anytime of day. Grandpa would sleep in the guest bedroom so I could sleep with Grandma in her big bed. She’d yell at me all night for tossing & turning, keeping her awake. We’d go for rides in her little red Tempo to buy produce at the swamps or to the dollar store where she would buy me tiny bottles of nail polish.

She worked at a bakery two doors down and had to leave very early in the morning to start baking. When I’d wake up, Grandpa would watch me walk across Mrs. Mazerka’s yard and through the parking lot to the bakery. You could smell the donuts before you reached the glass door and a bell would announce your arrival as it swung open. Grandma would peek around the corner with a big smile on her face. “Mornin’ Sweetie!” she’d say, wiping the flour off her hands onto her white apron. I’d spend the day rolling sugar cookie dough, wiping down the glass windows and cases full of cakes, pastries & cookies. And that bell would ring all morning, townspeople leaving with little wax bags of cheese danish, an apple turnover or a white box full of donuts. They’d all talk to Grandma over the counter, asking about our family or just how beautiful a day it was going to be. She’d hand them their confections and they’d sometimes smile & say “bye” to me as I’d peek at them around the case.

We’d go back to the big kitchen where she would tie an apron around my waist, folding it up because it was so big on me. In the kitchen there were tall racks holding sheet pans, a silver mixer that was bigger than I was, and the long wooden table stretching across the middle where I would stand on a bucket to watch her roll dough, ice cakes & fill creme sticks. My favorite treat was a cake donut – with chocolate frosting & sprinkles. “Googlies” is what I called them. My dad would stop in to pick me up around lunchtime and I was always so sad to leave.

All those donuts were beautiful. Perfect little creations made especially for one to enjoy. When I make treats for the girls, I like them to be perfect too. Because they’re worth it, they’re worth having something made & presented with love.

We don’t have a bakery like that around here anymore, and it’s always been a little wish of mine to have one of my own. I’d need grandma there of course too! Until then, I’ll make little cakes for my little girlies, and she can come over & critique all she wants. I love you, Grandma.

Comments

  1. Such a cute story Bess!

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