Today my sister posted this on Facebook:
It is a poem my grandma wrote when she was a patient at an extended care facility. We found it in with her things when she died, I think. I wonder if my grandma wrote more things that we never knew about? I wonder if this poem expressed a sentiment felt by many elderly folks shut away in a nursing home? She was loved and visited often and actually loved the place. She wrote me a letter once and told me she was in love with her doctor. Grandma (my mom's mom) actually got a little risque in her old age. She called my dad's brother Oswald "Odd Balls" for some reason. She and my mom were so much alike. My mom took such good care of her and my mom and my sister saw her almost every day for coffee. My sister then took the same loving care of our mom.
Yesterday my sister called me and wanted my mom's molasses cookie recipe. My mom used to make the cookies every valentines day for our classmates. The classes were so small (12 person per class and two classes per room) that she could write the names of each student on the cookies. These cookies were excellent - they were made with lard but I am sure Crisco would work but they would not be as good.
Anyway, I found her recipe after she died - I knew right where I had put it and was able to give it to my sister. I remember that it was around Valentine's day when I was making a batch for the people at work and my mom called to tell me that my grandma had died.
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| Mom's molasses cookies - apparently she got the recipe from her own mom. |
Anyway, at work we used to give milk and molasses enemas to kids with impactions - in other words, kids who were FOS or "full of shit" as we say in the business. After we started those enemas, somehow the staff was not as excited about molasses cookies or any other thing with molasses in it.
Someday I am going to make these cookies again.
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| Grandma Maxfield |
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| Kseniya, mom and me | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
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It is a poem my grandma wrote when she was a patient at an extended care facility. We found it in with her things when she died, I think. I wonder if my grandma wrote more things that we never knew about? I wonder if this poem expressed a sentiment felt by many elderly folks shut away in a nursing home? She was loved and visited often and actually loved the place. She wrote me a letter once and told me she was in love with her doctor. Grandma (my mom's mom) actually got a little risque in her old age. She called my dad's brother Oswald "Odd Balls" for some reason. She and my mom were so much alike. My mom took such good care of her and my mom and my sister saw her almost every day for coffee. My sister then took the same loving care of our mom.
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