Baking with Grandmother is a source of memories, they last forever, not how they're made.
|As a young boy, visiting my grandmother was always a weekly treat.
The moment I turned up, racing to the kitchen would be the first port of call.
On the counter, I'd see her trustee recipe book opened at a new page. I'd salivate at the mouth-watering pictures.
"Let's turn that into reality, shall we?" she'd always say regular as clockwork.
If nothing was done perfectly, such as the measurements, she taught me to embrace those mistakes and how to deal with them without getting upset or wasting ingredients.
You could say she shared many life lessons during those weekend visits.
Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever.
Beyond my own innocent thought processes, I didn't realise the relationship between her and mum & dad became increasingly strained. It got to the point I was no longer allowed to visit anymore.
Saturdays turned into a day I dreaded, unable to do what I loved.
Years passed, I received news that brought a song back into my heart.
Again I'd get to see Nanny.
After the longest week at school, I made it to Granny's house.
We embraced, she looked dumbfounded at how much I'd grown.
I ran to the kitchen and there it was, the recipe book at the next page from where we left off.
"Let's turn that into reality, shall we?" she said, music to my ears.
"You haven't changed a bit", I responded with a smile.
We made that cake, the pair of us plastered in flour. It looked delicious.
Granny stared directly at it.
Her head then turned back to the book.
"Let's turn that into reality, shall we?"
Despite it being in front of her, she was oblivious to it and she'd forgotten making it.
Yet again I was faced with losing her, this time, forever.