“And didn’t she take a
straw and check to see if the cake was done. Didn’t I see her do that? It’s
witchcraft is what it is. How in all of nature can a broom straw predict if a
cake is done.”
“There’s dough on the
straw if the cake is not done. It’s a testing is all.”
“Science then and what’s worse… But I still think it witchcraft. The cake tasted of strawberries
and honeycomb and it the middle of winter. And she divined it with a broom
straw.”
2 comments:
Oh I've seen my mother do that many times. Before toothpicks. I hadn't thought of that in a long time. Appreciate the memory - my mother bending over the oven wearing a nightgown that hung below a short robe, reaching in with a long broom straw to poke it into the middle of one of her pound cakes. Yummy. Yours sounds magical - strawberries and honeycomb. Again your words come alive when I read. A visual experience. Washes over me like soft rainwater.
You're awesome, Barbara! Whenever I'm sure I'm speaking to an empty room, I see you wave your hand, saying, "i'm here, I hear." :)
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