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Whenever my Mother’s sister walked into the kitchen with cooking on her mind, we headed for the hills: Daddy to work, Mother to the back-bedroom for a long bath, and we girls to the great outdoors but, like curious puppies, staying close enough to listen and sniff. Who would have guessed that this short, plumb, blue-tint-white-haired woman could transform into Goldilocks and create fairy-tale havoc? Cupboards emptied contents on her command, and abracadabra the refrigerator complied beyond requirements for a simple spaghetti sauce. From the kitchen counter and sink, across the old white and black stove, to the Formica-top breakfast table and into the dining room, devastation piled and sprawled.

“Oh, this bowl is too large,” she exclaimed. “This bowl is too small,” she said. “Ahh… this one is just… right,” and happily dirtied another set of dishes.

Towards the end, our beloved cook tired; but instead of Goldilocks falling asleep, she laughed helplessly. That was our cue to bring this tale to an end. Now three little bears finished the cooking, cleaned the dishes and put everything away while Mother’s soothing voice coaxed Goldilocks back into our delightful maiden Aunt. You see, our Goldilocks was a really good cook, and cleaning up after her pretty much took care of “spring cleaning”.  So once or twice a year, what was the down side?

Did Goldilocks ever visit your house?

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