Emotional Eating

In my twenties, I spent more time at my grandparents' house than your average, single globe-trotter. Their home in Arizona was one of the few places I could go for respite. I'd float around with my grandma at the pool, go golfing with my grandpa, and 'visit'. I'd come with a belly full of cookies ready to throw myself back into my uncertain world of trying to find a career and a life partner.

Important side note: This blog wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for my grandparents. My grandpa was one of the few people who encouraged my writing. As my adoring blog readers know, the writing itself isn't my forte. Voice is strong - yes. Photos are on point - thanks Paul! But punctuation, etc - I mean can you even use a '-' like that? 

Back to the point, my grandpa once made a comment about how one day "I might be writing about my life." I don't remember the context but it was a vote a confidence because writing has never been something at which I was naturally gifted. (See, I didn't end that sentence with a preposition. But was it wordy? yes.) 

I started the blog as a single person, took a long break once coupled, and didn't start again until covid. My grandma was locked down, like most grandparents, so I fired back up the blog in an attempt to entertain her. I started posting every week or so. After I had 3-4 posts, I'd print them off, maybe add some kid art, and send them to her in the mail. 

Now my grandma is in her last days. My dad just showed her the last little Biggs' masterpieces I sent. In my current 'happy chaos', I won't be able to make it to say goodbye while she is still alive or likely even attend any kind of memorial. So I'm coping in a way she would approve - baking cookies.

I'm using "her" recipe. Which is to say, one day while visiting Arizona I asked her for her recipe. She told me to go into the kitchen and grab the chocolate chips. Yup, she used the recipe right on the back of the yellow package all those years. Toll House Original 

My kitchen helper was happy to do a run to the grocery store across the street for butter:

It never gets old living in a place where you can give your illiterate seven-year old 20 bucks and ask him to come back with butter and some tea. Hugo: "I can't reach the tea. I'll just ask someone to get me a package with the tree logo that says 'black'."

Once he got home, he got totally distracted taking apart our broken vacuum cleaner. 

But he'd done his part.

Crosby was happy to take over once some other "power tools" were involved:

I made a triple batch with the intention of using cookies as my 'ticket' in the door to see a new baby brother born to Carmen's bestie. Also, we currently have no heating in our building - again - so running the oven helps. My neighbor Val came over to bring homemade brown sugar and help me mix the dough after I sent her this picture to show my awesome spacial reasoning skills.

Triple batch was still a good life choice even if the mixing was a challenge.

This is the point in the post where I should put a photo of happy kids with chocolate all over their faces. But this post, just like grieving, is incomplete. I'll leave you with one of my favorite photos of my Grandma giving me the "something borrowed" on the happiest day of my life.

I love you Grandma. I'll miss you.