My sister and I always loved visiting my Grandparents in Florida. As a child your memory grabs onto snippets of life that delighted you, unable to comprehend that those times will not last forever, you retain what suits your fancy. The memories of childhood usually contain the very best days. It can be humorous as an adult taking firm account of things you remember: smells, treats, and novelties. I imagine this summer, as four-year olds, my children will cherry pick their own first memories - only they themselves can decide what to hold dear, what to remember on their journey into adulthood. In that way, memories are our first true life long possession.
In my mind lives the smell of Florida, the taste of fresh grapefruit picked off the tree in the yard, the all over pink of the bathroom with its fancy pink soaps you never used, the heat of my sunburns, the taste of Shirley Temples, and dinners at “The Club” where after a few drinks all the men at the table would break into song and sing. And of course there was the cookie tin, out in the washroom. The big metal tin filled with cookies my grandmother would bake in expectation of our arrival. For two small girls not allowed sugar, this was a VERY big deal. The cookie tin always sat on a sweet hand towel printed with hearts and flowers. My Grandmother Pinky has passed but she lived to bake those very cookies into her 90′s. The cookie tin has since disappeared but the hand towel remains. It is faded and stained but I swear it still smells of Florida. There is just enough fabric there for a special sentimental stitching project for my sister and I. To honor the memories of an era of in our lives when we were grandchildren and there were always plenty of Grama Pinky’s cookies.
