Cookies flavor the air
“These cookies have gotten us through a lot.” is something that my mother often tells me when I whine about the cookies. Ever since 4th grade way back in 1998, with dad’s business on the downward, and all other things going on in our lives, mom’s hobby of baking got us through as a source of income.
When dad was still earning well, these cookies afforded us quite a life. Shopping sprees that had us buying things with the only consideration being: does it come in my size? No, literally, we did that. Bags, Italian-leather shoes, jackets, clothes. We abused the luxury.
As times changed, the cookies were still there. Not to say, of course that the cookies kept us in the lap of luxury. It came to a point that it was barely enough to keep a roof over our heads— but it did. It gave us a home, paid for the bills and other utilities. Mine was a life not really built, but greatly supported and funded by the cookies.
But imagine smelling that chocolately, sugary, vanilla-y scent day in and day out especially during Christmas time. Folding boxes until the stack was just within my reach, and then starting another stack; having trays and packed boxes of cookies on literally every surface of the kitchen, living, and dining room; mixing, cooking, packing cookies from the time the tv stations sign on, until they signed off, and then signed on again. I think most conflicting youths will also get fed up with it.
Now that mom and I are finally moving out of this house— our first move to do on our own,— getting rid of furniture and clothes which have been part of the greater part of my 2 decades alive, having graduated from college hunting for jobs, basically sinking into life, things have been overwhelming.
With all the things going on right now, smelling mom’s cookies lend a sense of normalcy— a beautiful anchor for the coming days.
