I’m often asked if my childhood stories
are factual and I always maintain they are. But I’ve withheld this tale until
now because part of it is made up, a small but significant part. For those of
you who can’t figure out where I let my imagination wander, I’ll reveal the
fictional element at the conclusion. Read (here) about my mother's entry into a 1963 Harvest Bake Sale.
I never could bake a cake, I can't even make cookies.
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