Submitted by Terese Luikens, Sandpoint, Idaho For the first eight years of my life, I lived near my grandma and enjoyed partaking in the feasts she served for memorable holiday meals. Uncles, aunts, and cousins sat shoulder-to-shoulder around tables laden with tender beef roasts, smooth brown gravy, fluffy mashed potatoes, and always a choice of cream pie for dessert. Whenever I was eating a meal at Grandma’s house, no one ever had to tell me to clean up my plate. On other occasions, when Grandma invited my cousin Julie and me to sleep over, we always woke up to the aroma of a freshly baked Mrs. Bacon’s Coffee Cake. Grandma served us generous slices of this warm, moist, and sweet cake with a pat of butter pooling in the center, and she never denied us a second piece. Grandma’s cooking, like an extension of her love, filled me with comfort and …