Baking and Nana

A made up memory with the man who I am very grateful for.

Every Sunday morning without fail my grandfather would show up at my house with a new recipe in hand and groceries to bake something. While my entire family slept, ‘Nana’ and I would be dancing to Frank Sinatra, usually covered in flour from the mess we would create. Around noon the rest of my family would wake up, the smell of freshly baked brownies or bread teasing their taste buds. Nana and I would take out our serving first, the corner brownie piece for me and the centre for him, and then we would serve…