Grandma always kept cream filled fingers in a cookie jar on her kitchen counter far in the corner away from children’s reach. Not that she was stingy with her treasure. For the meager price of a please, every cookie in Grandma’s jar was mine for the asking.
I remember thinking those cream filled fingers were as constant as my grandma’s love. From my childlike perspective, both seemed in endless supply. But grandmas die and cookies get eaten and, with no one to tend them, jars stand neglected in corners with only crumbs remaining.
Grandma’s cookie jar eventually found its way into my once empty home where it now sits in the back corner of my own kitchen counter. And, as consistently as I am able, I continue to add to its so sweet treasure, more of those same cream filled fingers that are forever pointing toward love.