Photo: A row of kinklings on their third and final rise, waiting to be fried in oil. Thank God for the long countertop on my kitchen island. I knew I’d need all the counter space I could get.
When I was a little girl, spring came with a frilly Talbots dress, tights, patent leather shoes and a pretty little purse with a pink embroidered rose on it. It meant hair pulled tightly into glistening braids with plastic barrettes that stuck at your scalp while you were trying to “sleep pretty” before the Easter Bunny came with a basket full of candy, a jump rope, sidewalk chalk, and eggs dyed the night before. Seeing as Easter always seemed to be the first “good” day of the season to go outside and play, it is always synonymous with “real” and “actual” Spring in my mind.
But a few weeks before Easter, before…
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