Hey all! Word doc forth coming once again. I decided to try my hand at CNF. 😀 

I want to apologize for the delay. I am with my family for the week. And frankly, that is more stressful than it is vacation lol. 

<p>The kitchen was small, not unlike others in similar homes. I could see from the back door, to the tiny washing machine, all the way to the deep freezer and furnace. Despite its size, there was no shortage of places to sit. Furniture was crammed into the room. The wicker bottom chairs were placed around a table almost too big for the room. Across from there, a bar raised out from the linoleum floor. The paneling on the sides matched the same pattern and tone as the walls both yellowed with age. At the farthest end of the room was a large window overlooking mostly nothing. There was a weathered shed with peeling lead paint and a large bush of flowers. The fiery red and orange blossoms juxtaposed against the aging buildings. Under the window was a small sink. There was enough room for one person to stand in front of it. I leaned the middle of my back against the cool metal basin. I was to stay out of the way.

<p> I could watch quietly, but that was all. My grandmother, a sturdy woman with a salt and pepper pixie cut, busied herself over a bowl. On the counter, “Betty Crocker” stood out with her bright red and white packaging. I watched intently as my grandmother added eggs, milk, and oil. Though it was only boxed cake mix, I found it fascinating. I knew what was coming. The deep brown liquid was poured into a clear 9×12 pan. I knew I would soon have to leave the kitchen. But, I could go licking the spoon. I sat down at the table, walking in the kitchen would cause a cake to fall. I was not permitted to move. 

<p> My grandmother brought down another large bowl. She layered powdered sugar, vanilla, and crisco. She mixed them together, ensuring everything was incorporated. It was okay to buy cake mix. Icing however, was forbidden. It could so easily be made at home with what we had on hand. 

<p> Once the cake had cooled, I watched my grandmother cut off pieces. The edges started to soften. She plopped a heaping serving of icing onto the cake. She spread a think layer. I could still see the dark square. The icing was spread thin. Slowly, in layers, it started to take shape. She mixed potions of pink and green. The piping tips changed, seemingly by magic. She crafted delicate flowers, stems, and lace. She penned words in cursive font. I stared intently and with childlike amazement.