Don’t Grandma’s bake cookies anymore?

One of my strongest (and favorite) memories of my paternal grandmother is her cookie drawer. There were always cookies (Mother’s frosted oatmeal raisin) in the 3rd drawer next to the refrigerator. It was low enough that I could get to it whenever I wanted…and if you see pictures of me as a baby, I definitely knew my way around that drawer.


Genetic predisposition to cookies and big thighs aside, those are the types of memories one should have of their grandmother. Those plus days at the mall which started with getting our hair done and ended with lunch at a cute café (with our purchases taking over the table next to us). Yes, my shopping gene is definitely strong…up there with a love of fine jewelry, which I also got from this grandmother. But, I have to say, she was everything one thinks of when they think of Grandma.

Well, my mother, bless her heart, does not exactly evoke the same images. First, the cookie drawer is a jar on the cabinet (well out the reach of really small hands) and usually holds some version of healthy snack she found from one of her new age friends. Second, shop is a four letter word in her mind so while she does still get a few small gifts for each grandchild, her big purchase is to buy shares of animals that then go to solve poverty in some under privileged area. Granted, this is truly an incredible gesture and one I greatly appreciate. However, listening to her quiz my kids on whether or not they want to buy a ½ of a goat or 1/8th of a llama really is just a bit much. (yes, my recycling bin was full of wine bottles this Christmas).

But, the gift she bought my 18 year old medicinal marijuana card holding nephew definitely took the cake this year. For reasons too long to list, he lives with my mom and step dad in their extra bedroom and to make money, grows marijuana plants to sell to the various legal dispensaries…I’ve been told numerous times how legitimate this whole business is…and what an entrepreneur he is. But, I guess the climate in my mom’s closet wasn’t as conducive to profitability as one would hope, so for his present (in addition to the ¼ of cow she purchased in his name) was a grow lamp for his “herbs”. Not kidding!

I almost fell over laughing when my sister told me of this purchase…first, because the mother who raised me definitely would not have been purchasing me drug paraphernalia (regardless of how profitable it was) and second, just the image of her walking into a store to inquire on the wattage of the various lamps was just too much. The mom who spent 45 minutes trying to download one classical music song onto her “iPod/paddy thing” really had a conversation on grow rates for the pot in her closet?!

I guess on the bright side, maybe now her cookie jar will be filled with pot brownies…or at least one can only hope.