It was in the last week of my mother’s life that I made a pained and broad attempt at making the perfect frosting. My mother made frosting that she was famous for. It was peanut butter and powered sugar and milk and butter and vanilla. All those things so perfectly combined that she didn’t write the recipe for it, nor could she. It was made each time based on the turn of the spoon, the pull against the beaters, the color of the sugar turning pale brown. I could not duplicate it but, then, I rarely tried. My mother baked the cake for every special occasion. It was an anchor to every birthday party.
Oh, that made me cry. What a special relationship you both had. *hugs*
We totally got along and laughed a bunch!! <3!