Grandma's Cookie Jar
My grandmother passed away last week, and times like this tend to lead me down nostalgic journeys through my memory. Like visiting my Grandma at Marshall Fields where she worked in Chicago. Or the time she threatened to turn me into a frog. Yeah, this really happened, but the story is way too long to go into. And, of course, there was the cookie jar.
We moved to Indianapolis when I was young, so visits to Grandma and Grandpa’s always involved a long car ride. Three kids packed for three hours into a station wagon (two of us in that backwards seat that let you make faces at the cars behind you) was just bound to cause hyper-active behavior upon arrival. I was a chubby kid, so I always ran into the house, made a sharp left turn, and there, atop the old washer and dryer sat the cookie jar—enthroned (well, in my 7-year-old mind) like the Crown Jewels. It was in the shape of the Tortoise and the Hare with the jar being the turtle; and on his back, cross-legged and lying on his side, was the hare. But inside were usually homemade cookies of every variety, and at Christmastime, it was filled with luxuries God only gave Grandmas the ability to make! I know these were made for anyone to enjoy, but I always felt, somehow, they were made for me. That cookie jar symbolized my visits for 48 years—same cookie jar, same location.
Symbols of love take on special meaning at times of loss. I can’t remember specific cookies Grandma made, and some in the family probably don’t remember what that cookie jar looked like; but for me, it was a symbol of how Grandma loved us. Even at times when she may not have voiced her affection or love, the cookies were there as a symbol that she was thinking of us when we were far away. Perhaps that old jar symbolizes something completely different for others in the family; that’s the beauty of a symbol: It can mean very different things to different people; but for all of us, it connected back to that petite, fiery Polish woman.
Our Faith teaches us the value of symbol, and a trip to any of our parishes will prove the point: Crosses, doves, rainbows and hundreds of others testify to a love that guides us, provides for us and surrounds us. These symbols assure us that we are loved, despite living in a world that can leave us feeling cold and lonely. I never witnessed Grandma baking, but I always found the cookies. The symbols of our Faith, similarly, remind us that God is working, even when we cannot witness this on our own. Some can discount these symbols, and I bear no hard feelings toward those who do; but I will offer one caution: My Grandma’s cookies always tasted a little better when I realized, whether I saw it or not, that they were made for me. I’m going to miss that old cookie jar. Actually, I’m going to miss that fiery little Polish woman who filled it up and gave that symbol its meaning. Love you, Grandma.
