It was our last stop. On a hot July day we were anxious to get into our air conditioned car and on home.
I was rushing down the aisle at Costco when a bright yellow box caught my eye, "Dad's Cookies" it read. Immediately I was back to childhood Christmases so I grabbed the box. "No time for memories now," I thought. "Let's get on the road."
Travelling home my thoughts went back to trips to Vancouver to visit Mom's family. Uncles Allan and Mac both worked at the Dad's Cookie plant. On one occasion they took us on a tour of the plant. Our eyes grew pretty wide at seeing the big mixers and the dough being dropped on the big pans.
We were able to taste test the results. We already knew we liked Dad's Cookies because the uncles would come home from work carrying a brown bag full of broken cookies for us. Sometimes we got to taste a new variety.
Christmas morning, the tradition was for we girls to jump in bed with Mom while Dad lit the fire and put the kettle on. Then he brought the parcel from Vancouver and opened it. We read the letters from each member, which were part of the parcel. We were not surprised to receive a good size box of delicious smelling and tasting Dad's Cookies. They came every year.
As I was carrying my groceries on that hot July day I had this fleeting thought. Should I drop this box of Dad's so I again could eat broken cookies?
