My wife got an extra surprise for her birthday the other day when we traveled back home to visit her mother.  At the age of 95, her mother continues to divest of her precious belongings, and my wife has had an eye on an antique cookie jar that helped decorate her small room in the assisted living home.  It’s now wrapped in bubble pack and headed home with us, along with her mother’s birthday wishes.  Many Seniors have hiding spots for their valuables, so that they aren’t coveted by others.   They also may have their entire retirement savings stashed away from greedy relatives.

This particular cookie jar has been in their family for a long time.  I think it looks more like an urn, since it isn’t shaped like a cartoon character or have “COOKIES” written across it’s plump stomach.  Instead, it’s a cylinder of smoky glass with an etched floral design and a fancy gold lid.  Regardless, it is a valuable family relic that has a story behind it.

In fact, when her mom rescued it from her Uncle Murray’s Estate Sale she did not know it was a cookie jar, but remembers someone asking if she knew where her Uncle’s cookie jar was?  It wasn’t until years later when an antique dealer identified it as a cookie jar, did she finally put the pieces together, and realized that she had this coveted family treasure that was “missing” from the auction years ago.  No one knows what he hid inside it?

It still looks more like a burial urn than a cookie jar to me, a decorative container to store ashes on the mantelpiece.  Don’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar, because you never know what’s inside?  I wrote this humorous poem about our newest possession:

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Cookie  Jar

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Cookie Monster.

Is my nickname.

Munching cookies,

Is my game.

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What’s my favorite?

Chocolate chip.

That’s a crumb,

On my lip.

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Or give me,

An Oreo.

I also enjoy,

Raw cookie dough.

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The Girl Scout’s,

Rely on me.

I buy so many,

They camp for free.

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I’ve got BIG cravings,

Just ask the fairy.

My Sweet Tooth.

Is legendary.

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And when these teeth,

Turn into crumbs.

I’ll have nothing,

Left but gums.

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Chips Ahoy,

I’ll eat a stack.

They’ll make a meal,

Or just a snack.

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And someday,

When it’s my turn.

My sugary ashes

Will need an Urn.

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And before the winds,

Scatter me afar.

Maybe some belong,

in the cookie jar?

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Copyright 2017 johnstonwrites.com