One of my earliest memories of my mother takes place in our kitchen in Churchbridge, Sask. when I would have been three or four years old.
Having baked a cake of one flavour or another, an inconsequential matter to me at my young age, she had completed the much more important job of whipping up my favourite frosting with egg whites, vanilla and sugar.
Even then, as young as I was, I knew that hanging around near the kitchen when Mom was baking could pay off in a big way. Sure enough, I was rewarded with frosting covered eggbeaters and a mixing bowl that had the tasty, sweet leftovers that she didn’t require for the cake. While that may be the first of her “yesses” to me that I can remember, today I am being graced with new insights into the many “yesses” that came before.