It’s warming up, which has me very cross. It’s going to be in the 70’s next week, which I find intolerable. I know — there are many people who like warm weather and hate winter, but I like winter. It’s been cold enough for the past week or so that I’ve been able to pretend I live in a wintry clime, but that is coming to an end and I am really sad.
So, I fear that grumpiness has spread, and if you’re not careful it spreads everywhere and then you’re just unhappy about everything, and in the interest of that not happening, I will tell you a funny story about cookies. Two people brought in chocolate chip cookies this morning, one sort of moist and one sort of crispy and it reminded me about my mother’s cookies. My grandmother would always have chocolate chip cookies for us when we visited, and my mother has carried on the tradition, so whenever we visit there are always freshly baked chocolate cookies waiting for us, which is lovely. You need to know two things to understand this story. One, my mother seems to have become ever fonder of the crispy sort, even past the point of crispy moving into rock hard. Once when N was baking the cookies, my mother wanted her to leave them in the oven well past the point of doneness. When my mother would leave the room, N would quickly take them out. Two, my mother often gets other people to bake the cookies, and sometimes it’s Penny, who is the cleaner and general factotum around my mother’s house. One morning some years ago, M and I arrived at my mother’s house. It was a family thing and we were meeting N, who had driven down from Maine the day before. Of course there were cookies, and M was eyeing them somewhat distrustfully. N noticed, and said, “Don’t worry. Penny made them.”
Okay, it’s not very funny, but it’s a little funny. Of today’s cookies, though, I think the crispy were a little better.
All right. I am off to face the post office. Wish me luck.