Today, while making gingerbread cookies, I
competed in the world’s fastest question-answer period known to man:
“Can
I eat the cookie dough?”
“No.”
“Can I eat the cookie dough?”
“No.”
“Can I eat the cookie dough?”
“No.”
It reminded me of my grandmother.
“Can I have this one?”
“No.”
“What about this one?”
“No.”
“I already touched this one. Can I eat this
one?”
“No.”
Born in the depression and brought up
sharing bath water, my grandmother would make gingerbread cookies for Christmas
and every year she’d burn the first batch. It became a source of much
speculation in my family because despite 50 years of practice, she not only
burnt the cookies she insisted we eat them first.
My dad said it was because she hated
cooking and this was her way of expressing it. The problem was that cookies are
cookies and one can develop an acquired taste for even the burnt ones. So she
continued to make the cookies and we continued to eat them.
Today, 13 years since she passed away, I’m
understanding her better. While answering a field of questions, I accidentally burnt
a batch, and not only did I still get appreciation for making them but I also
didn’t have to eat them. A nod to my grandmother, o wise one.
No comments:
Post a Comment