it all began with a cookie jar…sort of

Almost from birth, our grandchildren had been the happy recipients of frequent quick breads and drop cookies and muffins from Grandpa, but when I determined to get better at decorating cut-out cookies, the real fun began. Every holiday and change of season (as well as births and birthdays) was greeted with a little iced gem in various flavor and color combinations. And they never noticed or seemed to care how wobbly those early outlines were or the times I overworked the royal icing and it turned out brittle — they just ate eagerly and took great joy in sticking out their ruby-red Valentine tongues and giving ghoulish black grins after eating Halloween bats.

The first time I heard our grandson say, “Grandpa Aaron is a good baker,” I knew that this was going to be one of the things they would always remember about me. And that’s where the seed was planted.

Not long after, we moved into a new home that had low display shelves on the kitchen island. So, of course, I bought a cookie jar, and I made the grandkids a promise that there will always be cookies in the jar any time they come to visit.

The leap from there to this blog is a little less clear to me.

My husband is a consummate storyteller, his family’s unofficial historian, and a big personality. We met later in life — after many of my most important relatives had passed and the majority of others became estranged as life paths splintered and diverged. Being the grandpa by marriage, I knew I wasn’t going to be remembered for my connection to the generational stories that are so much a part of this big Irish-Catholic family, but what to leave in that space?

Recipes. Sensory memories of tastes and smells. The enduring knowledge that someone loved them and thought they were the most special people in the world. And this blog — with stories of memorable moments and pictures of sweet indulgences we shared along this journey.

This is for them. It’s always for them. And we’re thrilled to have you along for the ride. Enjoy!