Gran's cookie jar is a treasured memory from my childhood. Throughout my early years, a succession of wood stoves marched without fanfare through Gran's kitchen--I barely noticed them. From time to time, a new deal table would magically replace the old--vaguely memorable only as shiny chrome and shades of red, yellow, or blue...But in the heart of her small kitchen, one comforting constant remained for 62 years--Gran's cookie jar.
Gran's cookie jar was a sweet-faced brown cow--a bell around her neck, a kitten on her back. Filled with Gran's scrumptious cookies...brown sugar peanut butter, crisp cinnamon snickerdoodles, chewy macaroons. And in the hazy edges of my memory, Gran always hovers..."Would you like a cookie, chavi?"
Gran's cookies were the ultimate in comfort food; her cookie jar, a childhood friend. But years later, I was to learn the bittersweet truth of that cookie jar--why it wasn't replaced when the cat's ear chipped and the paint wore thin. Why my Gran loved it so...
My grandparents wed in 1931, in the time of the Great Depression. Gramps was 19 at the time; Gran was 14 and an orphan. Times were hard, and work was scarce. Like everyone else at that time, they were poor--but Gran and Gramps were young, and their whole lives lay ahead; they were happy...
Ten years and 4 children later, the Depression was over. Now Gramps was farming by day, working in the cotton mill by night. He managed to buy an old farm house, and in a few more years, filled it with new furniture. He bought a 2nd mule and a new plow. He bought a used car and a new wringer-washer. His family grew, and still they prospered.
Like most survivors of the Great Depression, Gramps was frugal by nature. And after years of going without necessities, it was hard for Gramps to spend money on luxuries--but one day he did. Gramps bought himself a fancy shaving mug--complete with a little cake of soap, imported from England. He bought Gran her heart's desire--the brown cow cookie jar she had looked at for months, along with 24 lbs of flour. Life was good at last for Gran and Gramps...
In another 10 years, disaster struck. Gran became ill, and without surgery, she would die. The news was devastating, the outcome was grim. They had little savings and no insurance. But Gramps' love for Gran was so deep that he couldn't face life without her. He sold his prized shaving mug. He sold the mule and plow. He sold the wringer-washer and the car. He sold the furniture, piece by piece; when it was all gone, he sold the house...
Gramps rented a small cabin along the banks of Reedy Creek, and moved his family into it. The cabin was little more than a shack, with a sagging roof and a rotting porch. The curtains fluttered when the windows were closed. The wind howled up beneath the floor boards and flapped the faded linoleum floor. But none of that mattered now that Gran could have her surgery...Gran survived, and the family thrived-- with a patched roof overhead, home grown food on their table, and joy in their hearts. And through it all, Gran's beloved cookie jar sat proudly in her kitchen. In my heart, it sits there still...
