My mom was the best baker in the world. She had a cake ministry. Every month she would put this card on the refrigerator that had names of family, friends and neighbors with their special dates for that month. She would bake them a cake, even the mailman.
Whenever we came home from school, she had baked something for snack for us before we would do our homework. When she baked rolls, she would hide an almond in one and whoever ate that roll got a nickle.
One of my favorites was her baked apples. She would core the apple, fill it with raisins, nuts and cinnamon; bake the apple then pour vanilla pudding over it. Yummmy!!!
Sunday morning was hot biscuits. She would always give each of us a piece of dough that would be gray and grimmy sometimes when we finish rolling, playing with it and my brother would throw it up to the ceiling. No matter how scrungy it looked she always let us bake it, knowing the heat would kill any of our little germs. I can remember baked faces with beady eyes that were hard as bricks. She alwasy praised our creations. That was a loving woman who I miss evey day of my life. I too am a baker.