My Grandmother's pound cake

My grandmother was a good cook. She came from German stock and had some wonderful recipes that have become legendary in my family. She also lived near Philly, which produces some amazing recipes as well. Some of our favorites are her cheesecake, macaroni-and-cheese-and-tomatoes (made with extra-sharp white cheddar), sloppy joes, coffee cake, and the best pound cake in the world. Yesterday, in the midst of a pre-partem nesting baking urge, I pulled out the recipe, written in her handwriting, and fired up the hand-mixer. (I dreamed of a Kitchen-Aid mixer, lime green, but, hey, that is extravagant and my arm got a work out instead.) It was a cathartic experience as I measured and mixed and got flour everywhere. I baked my cake and even though I didn't cook it quite long enough, it is delicious. The top crust is what me and my dad always fight over. He tries to pick pieces off and I must protect it at all costs. Jay was the crust picker last night. So I made a semi-successful pound cake and tapped into my cooking heritage at the same time.

I miss my grandmother for many reasons, especially the more I've grown up and now that I have children and am more domesticated. We were never close, but the things I've learned about her since her death made me wish that I could now build a relationship with her. That I could have helped her heal and find a Savior. Not that it would be easy...in fact I think it would have been one of the hardest things I could ever try to do, but I wish I could at least try. Anyway, I think she'd be proud that I'm continuing with her recipes, and we could start from there.