Ahhh…the scent of orange marmalade…scents of days past…of grandmothers that actually baked the cookies they served their grandchildren and removed the cream off the top of the milk they poured.
Times change. Now I take my granddaughter out to breakfast and she licks the last drops of coffee creamer from the little cup that I take from the bowl on the table. Then we proceed to the office where she inhales the odor of newspaper ink.
We have never baked cookies together. My baking days quit when my children were no longer home. It’s more expedient to purchase such items from the store shelves now that I have moved into another of my nine lives.
Then take into consideration the health problems. All that rich fat in the shortening that adds to cholesteral problems and all that sugar that adds calories to an expanding waistline with its extra miles of blood vessels whose demands take years off one’s life.
My granddaughter took me into the world of the working mother. I recall the times when she was a mere infant that I packed my papers, my laptop, my camera and other office paraphernalia, in one arm. The other arm held the diaper bag, the formula and the blankets to protect her from the dirty carpet in the office.
Never did I dream I would become the “working grandmother” who didn’t supply my grandchild with the cookies and memories of the scent of orange marmalade filled cookies to remember me by.
What scent will she recall? The scent of ink, newspaper and remnant cigar smoke? One can only guess how she will be with her own grandchildren. Hopefully she will reverse the trend and return to the days of wonderful kitchen smells. Lord knows I won’t.
