在厨房柜台上，她列出了成分：面粉袋，糖盒，两个棕色鸡蛋坐落在瓷砖之间的凹槽中。一块黄色的黄油在边缘模糊。浅玻璃碗柠檬皮。我参观了那排。这是我九岁生日的那一周，我讨厌草书课上了漫长的一天，并且对要点得分的游乐场大喊大叫，而阳光灿烂的厨房和我热情的母亲受到欢迎。我将手指浸入棕色糖晶体的蜡袋中，喃喃地说是的，请，是的。
(On the kitchen counter, she'd set out the ingredients: Flour bag, sugar box, two brown eggs nestled in the grooves between tiles. A yellow block of butter blurring at the edges. A shallow glass bowl of lemon peel. I toured the row. This was the week of my ninth birthday, and it had been a long day at school of cursive lessons, which I hated, and playground yelling about point scoring, and the sunlit kitchen and my warm-eyed mother were welcome arms, open. I dipped a finger into the wax baggie of brown-sugar crystals, murmured yes, please, yes.)
