As the Cookie Crumbles

By , Paso Robles, CA
At the time they did not taste good to me. They were not the most attractive. I loved those cookies because my Grammie made them for me with love and I felt that they were a part of me. I have never known better than to love them and I am expected to do so.

“Run run run, as fast as you can, you can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread man!” my grandma whispered to me in an I-don’t-know-if-i’m-crazy- for-talking-to-a-three-year-old-in-this-voice tone. She slid the flat, sticky, and moist cookie dough men, crammed on a tin sheet, into the oven.

We had spent nearly and hour preparing the dough, or rather her making it and I secretly slipping chunks of dough into my mouth, the flour falling off and dancing around. This commotion was enough to show my grandma exactly what I had been doing however, she did not care. We would exchange our sweet little grins and continue the work. I did not even like the dough. Thinking back on it I still do not know why I did it. Maybe just a curious toddler wanting to know how far she could go.

After they had been placed in the oven and the timer was set, the fun and games would begin. According to Grammie, I was the smartest little girl in the world because I could do puzzles. My grandmother and I learned a lot about each other during these games and our relationship grew. Every couple of minutes we would check on the cookies and make comments about how they were getting fatter and the sweet and spicy aroma of gingerbread men filled the house. I would imagine the little boys and girls getting up and running away. Then back to the games we would go. Of course I was always the winner of Pretty Pretty Princess, and when Grammie was kind enough to break out the Mall Madness I would enjoy swiping all the cards and listening to the robotic voice for only one second before interrupting it to swipe again. Joyfully, Grandma would chuckle at my actions and I liked all this attention.

Again we go back in to check on the cookies and they are almost done. My grandma and I felt so close, and I, proud of my accomplishments. How wonderful is it that the slimy and gaunt people were now looking puffy and full of life! Look how far they had come. Just a little time in the oven was all they needed. They were done cooking but a lot more could be added to reach their full potential of tastiness.

As before she would set off to work mixing food dye into white frosting and dumping assorted candy types into small dishes. Now, comfortable and relaxed, I could enjoy accessorizing the cookies. Gumdrops or M&M’s for buttons on the bellies. For hair, yellow frosting. Most girls had blue dresses and most boys had green overalls. My grandma and I had all of this down and it started to become more silent and serious as we worked rapidly. Suddenly she started getting irritated at me for licking my fingers or snacking on the candies. We were both about to be done with this project.

I loved the cookies I had made, and wanted to save them forever. The cookie then jumped into the milk and I was informed that my grandmother was going to get married. How would we be able to play our silly games and have special grammie-and-I bonding time?

Suddenly the cookie got soggy and started to crumble yet I still love it. Not because it tasted good, or because it was appealing to they eye. I put so much time and love making it and it gave me so much joy. I love these gingerbread cookies because we share parts of each other that cannot be returned. A cookie might crumble but I still, and will always love it.





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