When Crisco is a Memory…

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So today I was making some chocolate chip cookies. Kind of my specialty. Anyway, I used to make chocolate chip cookies with my grandma from my mother’s side. And today my hands making cookies triggered a memory.

Growing up, I never remember seeing that grandma much. Or it may have been a lot, but I don’t think so. I saw my paternal grandma all the time, she babysat me, so that made seeing the other grandma a rare and splendid occasion.

Anyway, you know the things you forget about and then something or someone just triggers that memory? I had that today. It was my hands

So like I said, baking cookies today, was a grandma and Megan thing to do. And when I was little, I remember my grandma’s hands. Grandma’s hands were special and maybe that’s the reason that I remembered them when I was little. See grandma is a many things. She’s a musician, an artist, an afghan maker and now (great) grandma.

Now that Grandma’s hands are more arthritic and have done these things, they kind of have a curve to them in the fingers. When I was little it was just a slight curve. Now it’s time to tie this in with baking. When we baked, grandma’s hands would get warm, obviously. I always remembered her hands the slight greasyness from the Crisco and the smell of cookies, more chocolate chip than anything else. And grandma likes hugs so combine all that and it’s definitely a pleasant memory.

Not only is grandma’s hands soft and remind me of cookies but they’re tough. They reflect who she is as a woman. Grandma had 3 children and adopted two. She knows her stuff, she tells her grandchildren (me) what she thinks they need to do with their lives. She was the wife of a trucker and who eventually lost her husband to Alzheimer’s after many, many, MANY years of marriage. She has a deep faith that keeps her positive. Grandma could be easily described as an old family bible, getting up there in age, showing it and still very needed. So point of that paragraph is that you can tell what kind of person grandma is by her hands, which you can do with many people.

I was looking at my hands today while I was making cookies and I kind of felt them and I was like “grandma”. My hands felt like her hands for a little bit. I can only wish that I am just a fraction like her. I want to be that strong and that independent but have a softness about me as well. One can hope.

I love my grandma, she can’t ever die. I’m pretty sure. I’d be lost without grandma. But when she does die, there will always be Crisco and chocolate chip cookies.

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About frustratedreader

I'm just an average 20 something female that loses myself in a good book. Life has gotten hectic trying to balance small town living, working towards teaching overseas, finding that special someone and figuring out how life is supposed to work post-college. Thank God for books and knitting!

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