Every year when December rolled around, my brother, Kurt, and I would eagerly wait for the arrival of a package. Normally it would show up on our doorstep a few weeks before Christmas, wrapped in brown Kraft paper and haphazardly taped and postmarked. Kurt and I would see our address written in our grandmother’s cursive, and just like that, our stomachs would start growling, and we would salivate in sweet anticipation.
Because we knew what was inside: cookies. And lots of them.
After hauling the box in the kitchen and extracting the brightly colored tins, we’d open them to find a smörgåsbord of baked goods. Wax paper lined layers of cookies laced with sugar, chocolate, peanut butter, vanilla, sprinkles, nuts, and butter stared up at us, taunting us with their sweetness. What would we pick first? And how could we pick just one?
We never picked just one. Thank goodness she sent multiple tins.