When Grandma baked her cookies in her big black Majestic range,
I always thought it was a mystery and also kind of strange
how she could know how many corn cobs to make right oven heat
for her cookies were always perfect coming off the cookie sheet.
When the aroma of baking cookies was in the air,
grandchildren came running from everywhere.
It was a custom at Grandpa’s forenoon lunch,
that we would also be there to grab fresh cookies to munch.
Sometimes we’d sit on Grandpa’s knee
and dip sugar lumps in his coffee.
These memories of childhood days are to me sublime –
the days we were at Grandma’s house
at cookie baking time.
By Doris Stensland