On Christmas Day so very long ago, I watched quietly from the living room window for Santa to disappear in his sleigh as the morning dawned clear and brisk. I knew he had come, and even though my parents always laughed off the idea, I *KNEW* he existed. I could peek and see there are a large, brand new spanking "Easy Bake Oven" and I almost passed out from the excitement I could hardly conceal. I ran in my room, and promptly jumped up and down on my bed until the springs creaked with enough noise to wake all the sleeping cats in the house. "He had come! and.....Santa had brought a perfectly sized oven for just me." To be truthful, I shouldn't of even peeked, but I did. The first wonderful treat I made with my oven was the tiniest little cake. My mother and I had worked together to get the ingredients right, and I learned how to put this delightful frosting together, which; to this day I still prepare with the fresh oranges that come at Christmastime. I don't have the "Easy Bake Oven" but I do have the memories.
