The Week -
15 Oct 2014 20:27
Tucked away in the corner of my grandmother's kitchen, there was an old, heavy ceramic cookie jar. It had a cracked lid that had been glued together too many times to count, thanks to all the tiny hands (mine included) that had attempted to lift it only to have it slip and fall on the floor. That crashing sound would rudely announce to the aunts and mothers, who were distracted with various cooking tasks, that a pre-dinner cookie heist was underway. But when my grip on the lid was strong enough,...
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