Twelve Frosted Cupcakes, Just One Stick of Butter. Promise.
These are pretty, right? Hot diggity dang, I think they’re precious.
In the middle of frosting these cupcakes I looked down at my hands. No big deal. I was simply looking down at the cupcake in one hand, and frosting covered knife in the other. I had to see what I was doing, right? When I looked down at this particular moment, I saw… my grandmother’s hands. There they were, the worn and wrinkled hands that had absolutely fascinated me as a child… only now spotted with powdered sugar and tinted with food coloring.
When I was a kid I would hold my grandmother’s hand in my lap and study it like it like I might study my favorite picture book. Somehow her hands weren’t at all different from reading an intricate a story.
So there I was, frosting a cupcake with my grandmother’s hands. The image was so strong that I even put down the cupcake and knife and bent my left index finger with my right hand. It ached a little. I don’t know why. And just like that… those hands were gone from me.
That was simultaneously perplexing and so comforting. I had to share that with you… I now only hope that I live long enough for my hands to be read like a story book.
Now let’s talk cupcakes!
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