PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I close my eyes and inhale the sweet aroma of freshly baked oatmeal cookies that fills the room instantly. I am sitting on a chair beside the kitchen table quietly observing my grandmother take the baked goods out of the oven. It’s become routine for her to prepare a fresh batch every day. She’s prepared them for as long as I can remember, and from all the things that have changed throughout my life, the cookies have remained the same. They are always made with the perfect consistency– not too crunchy and not too chewy– and even though most family members have tried to imitate the recipe, we’ll never be able to do them like her. Oatmeal cookies have been present through the most important parts of my life. On my first trip away from my family, oatmeal cookies made me feel close to home. During our biggest family gatherings, the cookies were the most anticipated part. When my sisters were born, they were the perfect companion for the celebration. Before my first recital, they helped calm my nerves. At funerals, the oatmeal cookies served to comfort those grieving. When I left my home town to study college, oatmeal cookies made me feel like my grandmother was coming with me. I’m not sure if it’s her special touch that makes them unique, or if it’s the sentimental attachment I have to them, but now it’s almost impossible for me to imagine a life without them. What will happen the day my grandmother is no longer with us? I try not to think about it. I open my eyes and I am back in my room. I realize my thoughts are starting to take me to restricted places. I grab a cookie from a bag my grandmother prepared for me and take a bite. The sweet and salty combination of peanut butter and chocolate chips mixed with the oatmeal’s crunchiness is the perfect cure for my sudden nerves. As soon as I finish the first one I can’t help myself and grab another one, and then another one, and then another one. The taste takes me on a trip back home, where I long to be, and suddenly I don’t feel so alone. It seems as if only a moment passes before my provisions vanish. All I can think about now is when my next trip to grandma’s house will be.