Stove black and sugar cookies

The Grands spent the weekend with us, marking a milestone in their young lives. It was their first sleep-over at Darmie and Gramps.

I wanted to make it memorable for them (and for self-preservation) prevent pangs of homesickness, so we planned a full weekend of events. I wanted to do all the things with them that I remembered doing when I went to my Grandmother’s house. I wanted them to feel as much love as I felt so many years ago. Could I succeed? I was certainly going to try.

We set out Halloween decorations and played endless games of Monopoly and Go Fish. We went to Friendly’s for ice cream, checked out the neighbor’s Halloween lights, played in the leaves and when I got tired, took their Gramps on a nature walk in the woods.

Then we made sugar cookies.

Some of my most loving memories of my Darmie were of times when we baked together. So you can imagine how my heart melted when my Grand Baby Girl looked up from her rolling pin and said, “Darmie, I just love making cookies with you.”

I had managed to cram all my memories into one weekend, or so I’d thought. It wasn’t until we had finished the cookies and decided to wrap up the day by swinging in my Grandmother’s old lawn swing that I remembered one more thing. . . and I smiled because I knew that it would be a memory that would remain mine— and mine alone.

It had been a long day for my Grandmother. Although my world evolved around my Darmie, she had chores to do and dinner to prepare. So, left to my own devices, I did what any kid would do—I pestered her by ringing the doorbell over and over again.

As busy as she was, she never lost her sense of humor. But by the fourth or fifth ring, she decided enough was enough and took measures to end my torment once and for all.

It’s possible the Halloween season may have inspired her - I’ll never know for sure. What I do know is that when the doorbell sounded again, she was prepared.

With stove soot blackened eyes, hair teased into a tangled mess and dentures protruding from her mouth, she got down on her hands and knees and pulled open the door.

Staring back at her were the brown cuffed trousers and polished oxfords of the Fuller Brush man.

How funny was that?

Not very. . .

The poor man was deaf and mute.

She never did catch up with him to explain.

Happy Halloween!
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One Response to Stove black and sugar cookies

  1. You have such priceless memories! Your grandmother sounds like a wonderful woman. What a funny picture, of her at the door like that!

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