On The Importance of Cookies

It is a simple recipe, hand written on a recipe card that has browned with age. Titled “Oatmeal Cookies” from Grandma Conner, it contains the promise of memories from a childhood lived a lifetime ago on the plains of South Dakota.

“I just wish I could taste them one more time.” Glenna said to me on our last visit to Missouri.

She was dying, three different types of cancer, and had been admitted to hospice after she’d decided that at the age of 77, she was done fighting. We had only recently met her, the mother-in-law of one of Deb’s childhood friends, but her expressive blue eyes and easy smile made us both feel that we’d known her for years. We all sat around a large table and visited. Glenna was eager to share stories from her life, a life that was lived fully.

Born in 1932, she recounted tales from a childhood in South Dakota, and of struggling as a single mother while living in Los Angeles. She married for a second time to a man who loved to fly. He insisted that she be able to safely land the plane if anything should happen to him, so at the age of 40, she got her pilot’s license. She talked of living in Arizona, and her affection for that unique landscape. She was a lover of rocks and turtles, and had one of the most beautiful, gentle spirits I’d encountered in a person.

We had the opportunity to visit just a few times, but that was all it took for us to fall completely in love with Glenna. Deb received a phone call one day asking if I’d be willing to make a special dish on our next visit, something that Glenna and her daughter had greatly enjoyed in times past, Cioppino. It was an extravagant dish; lobster, shrimp, crab, fish and clams. Needless to say, the cost of all those ingredients made me more than a bit nervous about preparing this meal but it was something very meaningful so I swallowed my fear and undertook the cooking.

It was a Saturday afternoon and everyone was assembled in the kitchen, happily shelling seafood while I chopped vegetables. Glenna supervised, and we all relished each other’s company. It made me realize why the kitchen can be the heart of a family.

Once the real cooking started, I shooed everyone out and began preparing the stock. Onions, bell pepper, garlic, leeks, stewed tomatoes, lots of wine and tomato paste were among the ingredients. Beautiful aromas started to fill the house, and heads occasionally poked through the door to exclaim how wonderful it all smelled. It was all left to simmer while I joined everyone out on the enclosed porch. Deb was encouraging Glenna to talk about her life, and there were smiles all around.

The time came to start adding all the seafood. I read the recipe twice to make sure that I got the order and timing correct. Lobster, shrimp, clams and fish were added to the stock and allowed to cook for 10 minutes. Then in went the crab and another 5 minutes. Then it was done.

It was probably not the best cioppino that has ever been made, but it was what had been anticipated. The flavors carried Glenna and her daughter back to meals eaten together in another time and place. The third generation, Glenna’s granddaughter, was introduced to a family memory. The rest of us had a wonderful meal that will not be forgotten for the past had been made present and new memories had been created for all who partook that evening.

Later, as we all relaxed, Glenna told me that she wished she could find someone to make cookies for her from a recipe that came from her childhood. These weren’t any ordinary oatmeal cookie as they had chocolate chips and walnuts in them. I told her that I would be willing to try my hand at them on our next visit.

Our visit lasted until Monday morning. As we left, I asked Glenna’s son-in-law to see if he find the recipe and send it to me without Glenna knowing, a feat he was able to accomplish. It had occurred to me that when a hospice patient has a strong desire for something, one should not wait to fulfill that and so I planned to make the cookies the following weekend and ship them to her.

Oatmeal Cookies from Grandma Conner

1 ½ cups brown sugar, packed

½ cup white sugar

¾ cup shortening

Pinch salt

1 tsp vanilla

2 eggs

1 ½ cup flour

1 tsp baking soda in ½ cup hot water

1 tsp baking powder

1 cup broken walnuts (English)

1 cup chocolate chips

4 cups oatmeal

Mix sugars and shortening then eggs and vanilla and salt then flour and hot water (with baking soda) and baking powder then oatmeal 1 cup at a time then mix in nuts and chocolate.

Bake at 350 degrees on greased cookie sheet. 12 – 14 minutes.

These were gorgeous cookies - soft, sweet and chewy. After they’d completely cooled we packaged them into a tin and sent them priority mail to Missouri. They arrived on Wednesday. We received a phone call to let us know that they were a success, and that even though Glenna’s sense of taste had diminished and she was struggling to eat, these tasted right to her. She was filled with delight at being able to have one more sampling of her childhood, revisited through this culinary memory. My one regret is that I was not present to witness the look on Glenna’s face as she tasted that first cookie.

The cookies arrive a little over a week ago, and in the time that has elapsed between then and now, she has almost completely released her hold on life. Though the body is taking a little longer to cease functioning, her essence has already all but completely slipped away.

I have learned some profound life lessons from this brief knowing. Glenna was fully engaged with life right up to the end. She was not afraid to love new people, to invite them into the warmth of her heart. She was real, and in the moment. These are things that I will always carry with me, but most importantly, I learned the importance of cookies that are made with great affection, and arrive in time.