Cookie commemoration

Quarantine cookies are a real thing.

Not just the baking of them as a means of COVID-coping productivity, but as an expression of the times.

My daughter-in-law—artist, baker, craftsperson extraordinaire—created these cookies a few weeks ago. She and my son delivered them with my granddaughter via a front porch social-distance visit:

My ebullient four-year-old granddaughter belly-laughed on presenting these whimsical delights: “TOILET TISSUE COOKIES!!!!!”

“And face masks and soap!” I exclaimed.

“They’re too pretty to eat!” said my husband.

But we did. Every crumb. With joy.

I thought about the joy with which these cookies were infused, how ingesting them was an antidote to the virus zeitgeist. What you put into a thing is what you get out of it …

Yesterday my son and his family made another delivery:

“Ooooohhhhh,” my husband and I breathed in unison.

As we admired the astonishing artistry, I noted a shift in the cookie symbolism: Not just physical survival, as in the previous batch, but spiritual (coffee counts as both, right?). The fleur-de-lis, emblem of our daughter-in-law’s Louisiana roots, long associated with Christianity and the church, an icon from antiquity for royalty and protection. Choosing to believe, as the stages of isolation drag on, that the uncertain future can, and will, be beautiful. “Unbridled hope for tomorrow” … such trust. Such zest for life.

And a pencil.

Truth is, we write our tomorrows by our choices today … and nothing represents spiritual survival to me more than writing.

I call it: “The pencil is mine.”

“I want this one,” said my husband, picking up the fleur-de-lis. How he misses going to church, being with the flock he pastors. A shepherd pining for restoration, preservation.

We share the consumption of hope.

Every sweet crumb of it.

18 thoughts on “Cookie commemoration

  1. It’s wonderful to see expressions of hope expressed in so many different ways. I think the delicious ways have to be some of the best! My own story today involves a “socially distant” and masked activity with my granddaughter, and–while I don’t like that this is our normal for now–I think those visits show we’re finding a way to make it through. Thank you for sharing this!

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    • Loved the post of you and your granddaughter working – no, the normal for now is not fun. I will be thankful more than anything for my granddaughter be able to stay the night again and just spend lots of time together. These days do call for creativity and extra doses of hope … yes, we WILL make it through!

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    • I absolutely had to take the picture to remember and would not have eaten them at all but that would have wasted them, so … yes, she’s an amazing artist. always creating something. These cookies were delicious.

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  2. The cookies are a work of art as well as a symbol of hope and togetherness. I like how you make the connection to spiritual survival. And writing. We all need connection, and the cookie connection is delicious.

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    • I recall your cookie deliveries – this act is more than bringing bits of comfort and love to others. A cookie is a taste of hope. That’s my philosophy, anyway! These happened to actually state it for themselves.

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  3. Oh Fran! Another utterly delightful post. I love how you write, you think, you share….those cookies!!! They are gorgeous! I wrote down this line in my notebook: “Truth is, we write our tomorrows by our choices today.” I want to keep that line and live it. It is so powerful. Your writing always, always uplifts. Every word. 🙂

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    • The cookies tasted great, too! And your words – your heart – always uplift as well, Kathleen. So glad you are “keeping” that line … I must remember it and live it myself, now that it has arrived with its truth. 🙂

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  4. Fran, these cookie creations are simply wonderful and edible, too. The artistry in both deliveries are spectacular and the messages filled with fun and hope. I have been making quarantine cookies with chocolate chips-all different sorts but not with those beautiful frostings and sayings. We all need to enjoy family time together. I miss that. Thanks for the joyful post, Fran.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I so miss the togetherness; it will return, and in the meantime I am especially grateful for online writing friends and kindred spirits such as you, Carol. Always a ray of sunshine where you are.

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