Once upon a time in midwinter,
when the snowflakes were falling like feathers from heaven,
a queen sat sewing at her window, which had a frame of black ebony wood.
As she sewed she looked up at the snow and pricked her finger with her needle.
Three drops of blood fell into the snow.
The red on the white looked so beautiful that she thought to herself,
"If only I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood,
and as black as the wood in this frame."
I have such a weakness for old tales (particularly for having them told), and there is one specific book which I treasure most tenderly, since it has accompanied already my father, and after that myself through our childhood. It's from 1957, and probably out of print by now, which I consider a great loss for all those generations still to come.
Flicking through these pages brings me way back into my early years, when I foolishly ripped and tugged on the animated parts, not knowing of its true value yet. The pages still smell like those linen sheets of my grandmother, and I remember her voice reading the story to me long before I knew how to decipher it myself.
There are a couple of books that I won't be able to part with, and I can't wait for the day I'll be reading their lines to my own kids, watching them tug and tear on the pages. The kind of memories they'll plant in their minds are priceless.
This weekend the sun has been spoiling us to make up for all the rain a few days ago. I made a birthday cake yesterday, and apart from the slightly sticky dough (I had forgotten to buy baking powder and had no substitute at hand) it turned out quite delicious.
It's called a Snow White cake and consists of a simple dough, cherries, buttercream and a luscious chocolate icing, and it's best to keep it chilly in the fridge until serving. Just perfect for these sunny days.