Oatmeal Cookies

Oatmeal cookies remind me of my grandmother. Not just any oatmeal cookies, but her oatmeal cookies. And the smell of her oatmeal cookies reminds me of the way she would get dressed in a skirt or slacks with a pretty sweater or smart button down shirt every single day. Even if she wasn’t going to leave the house. Her hair and makeup was done by 7 am, and each piece of jewelry perfectly in place. And she always wore a pair of stockings with heels or flats. In fact, I don’t ever recall seeing my grandmother’s bare feet. Although, I'm pretty sure when I was 10, I may have caught the tiniest glimpse during one of her lightning-fast quick-changes into socks when she took us bowling. But I’m not sure. She was that fast. Stockings were truly her second skin. My feet, however, loathe stockings. My feet are bare pretty much all the time. In the winter I may put on some socks simply to keep warm at night. And every now and then, I will wear flats or running shoes. Heels are quite rare. Flip flops are pretty much standard. Even in the winter. I justify this by saying I live in southern Arizona. But I’m pretty sure my grandmother (and people from places like North Dakota) would never understand the reasoning behind this.

So, without fail, my grandmother would get “dressed up” every day. And never wore flip flops. For me, most days consist of jeans and a t-shirt if I’m going out somewhere. At home – I would be lying if I said anything other than “pajama-like” wear. I often wonder what it would be like to have the energy and gumption to actually get dressed, looking totally put together every day of the week. It sounds like so much work. But my grandmother did it. She was a classy lady. Me, not so much. I think I must’ve missed out on that gene.

And so the the smell of freshly baked oatmeal cookies is like looking at a picture of my grandma. This is the reason why I pull out my her recipe every now and then. Sometimes it’s just to remind myself that I could put forth a little effort and dress up my wardrobe somewhat by wearing skirts and heels every now and then. And then I laugh, because that is just ridiculous, crazy-talk right there. So I really pull it out mostly for memory’s sake. Like this week. While I can’t necessarily say that oatmeal cookies are at the top of my list of favorite sweets this time of year – can anyone honestly put oatmeal out there as a contender when it comes to pumpkin flavored concoctions, and chocolate drenched treats, and (my personal weakness) cheesecake? No? No one? That’s what I thought. But against these odds, I tend to make a few batches each year around the holidays. My grandmother was wonderful in the kitchen, and it’s my way of sharing my memories of her with my children. But I mostly make them for my dad. And my grandfather. Because I know if the smell and taste of her oatmeal cookies does for them even a small part of what it does for me, those cookies are a crunchy, crumbly, sweet river of memories. The legacy of love can show its face in many forms. And sometimes it’s in the form of a cherished oatmeal cookie recipe.


"When nothing else subsists from the past, after the people are gone, after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory" -Marcel Proust "The Remembrance of Things Past"