It’s funny how we associate things with the people to whom they once belonged. My mother recently gave me a cookie jar that had belonged to my maternal grandmother. It’s in the shape of an old-time radio, and I was fascinated with it as a child. I placed it front and center on my study bookcase, so I can see it every time I sit at my desk.
I remember when Grandma first got the cookie jar and deemed it too pretty to use for cookies. She gave it a place of honor on her hutch instead. I was four or five years old and would stand in front of the hutch and stare at it for long periods of time. Eventually, Grandma always came along and made me go outside for some fresh air because staring at a cookie jar wasn’t healthy. She never let me touch it because it was something fragile to sit on a shelf and look pretty.
I think my fascination stemmed from the tales of her childhood that I begged her to tell me as often as possible. She used to tell me stories about how her family had a radio when she was a kid, and TV hadn’t even been invented yet. She was born in 1919. She told me stories about the family gathering around the radio to listen to their favorite shows. The music they heard was performed live in the studio, and there was no better place for news.
Grandma passed away quite suddenly when I was seven years old. Everything that I have from her is exceedingly precious to me. Time has a tendency to dull memories – especially childhood memories. My memories of Grandma come back to me every time I gaze upon her cookie jar. I can almost hear her voice in my head telling me to go outside and get some fresh air.
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