You can be sure if it's Westinghouse.

Strawberry Pretzel Crust Dessert.  If you bring one to a pot luck dinner, you will be required to bring one to every subsequent pot luck.  People crave it.  I bet if I ever had to bring something to a pot luck on an alien ship, it would be this dessert. 

I got the recipe from my high school friend's mom.  She made sure I knew the secret to making it right.  I've been making it for 30 years now.  Never to eat at home...always to share.  I think about all the different people in my life that I have sat down and talked to over a plate full of pot luck desserts.  Thank you God for all Your good people I've been privileged to share with.  We will eat a piece of Strawberry Pretzel Crust dessert together in heaven someday. 

Like my sewing machine that has seen many years and many seasons in my life, so has my electric mixer.  It's not one of those fancy stand mixers, just handheld.  Westinghouse.  My dad worked at Westinghouse in Sharon.  They were going to quit making small appliances and the employees had a chance to buy them at a good price.  I can remember boxes way back in the corner of the kitchen cupboard with an iron, mixer and toaster.  They were put there waiting their chance for daylight when the current countertop appliance quit working.  My mother's mixer never malfunctioned and so when I set up my own household, I got the Westinghouse.  How many times has it beat cream cheese, powdered sugar and Cool Whip?  A lot.   

Funny about those appliances in the cupboard.  I have this memory of being in the cupboard with them.  I used to crawl in there.  This had to have been when I was very small.  I can still remember how it felt.  And smelled.  And looked like.   I have an even earlier memory.  I know this seems unlikely but it is a memory nonetheless.  I have this vague memory of standing in my crib and looking out over my room and it is not quite light and not quite dark.  My viewpoint is exactly from where my crib was and the room situated like it was.  Is this a real memory or one that only comes from knowing my room and how it was?  I can't say.  Memories are strange.  What we remember, what we forget.   How our memory of the same event can be so different from someone else who was also there.  What makes us remember the things we do?  My parents seem to remember more old stories the older they get.  I still hear new tales from time to time.  Where have these stories been all these years? 

What is your earliest memory?