I used to spend my summers with my grandmother in Northern Connecticut. She was a wonderful little Norwegian woman that stood about 5 feet high. My grandfather was a Swedish ship captain that stood well over 6 feet tall. My grandmother would wake up at 5 in the morning just to start making her bread (that had been proofing in the oven all evening) I would anxiously await the warm, crusty, tremendously tasty bread spread with home made strawberry jam or any other berry that she might have picked in the neighbors yard. These memories of her and her patience in the kitchen with me made me the cook I am today. Not a day passes when I don't think of her...a smile crosses my face and I know she's in the room with me, making sure her measurements are just right.