Submitted by Pamela M. Saunders, Suffolk, Virginia I grew up next door to my grandmother. She and I were each other’s eyeballs. Every Saturday, I went next door and we baked her pound cake. I remember sitting on a stool with folding steps as she worked. At first, when I was very young, I could just add the vanilla. As time went on and I became older, I was allowed to add more and more ingredients, until I made the cake and she sat on the stool. While we worked, she told me wonderful Bible stories and wonderful stories about our family. Granddaddy loved “felled cake.” Sometimes when the cake was in the oven, he would come in and stomp on the floor or bang the oven door open and closed to make sure the cake fell. Granddaddy’s “felled cake” was just as good as Granny’s “perfect cake.” If by some …