SWEET MEMORY


       Grammy’s cookie jar holds special memories for me.  It was a rather big pig, a  Shawnee Pottery Smiley Pig, she named Sweetie-Pig.  It sat in a corner cabinet, a bit out of my reach.  I always tried sneaking into her kitchen to get some cookies, but the lid was so heavy and cumbersome that she would show up like black lightening when I tried.

                    Inside were generous sugar cookies with sparkly sprinkles of sugar on top, soft and moist—precious gifts that didn’t even have a handwritten recipe—made straight from her heart. Grammy was the same way, no printed directions with her.  What you saw was what you got, with those special touches like sugar cookie sprinkles on top—she used to add to everything from family gatherings to fresh homemade bread with melty butter and cinnamon sugar on top to teaching me how to appreciate classical music and admire Monet paintings.  Those memories are inside that cookie jar today sitting in a safe spot in my home. 

Nowadays, it seems indulgent and impractical to give over precious counter top space to a chubby piece of crockery when a sealable plastic bag will do the job better. But I can’t imagine my adulthood without the promise of the mist-shrouded Cookies of Yesteryear; and when I get the urge, I lift Sweetie-Pig’s faded and aged lid taking in all the wonderful memories of long ago, those sweet smiles of my Grammy and her homemade sugar cookies.

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