Earlier, I went to the grocery store to get some cookies to put out for my book club meeting. I stood in the cookie aisle forever trying to decide on something, and berating myself for being too lazy to bake the gingerbread cake I had planned originally.
All the cookies seemed fucking ridiculous to me. Everything had ten kinds of something chunky in it, like our mouths can no longer be entertained by something simple. I got stuck at the Whippets for awhile wondering how in the world a marshmallow cookie coated in chocolate wax even manages to maintain market share these days.
I just wanted something simple. To go with tea and coffee. A little memory floated up from somewhere. Of driving to Sundridge with my parents when I was little to visit my Great Grandma. She had one of those golf tee games that I liked and when we left, she’d stand at the end of the hall her apartment was on and wave to us from the window as we drove away. It always made me sad.
She used to put out these cookies for us though. I wanted, suddenly, to get them for the girls. I can’t remember what they were called but basically they were some sort of generic biscuity thing, maybe with raisins? And the tops were glazed thickly with white … glaze. They were probably called something plain too, like, “tea cookies” or “glazed biscuits”.
They were good. For coffee and tea. And, apparently, they don’t exist anymore. Not at that store anyway. Too plain for us now, I guess. Not stimulating enough for our “complex” 2009 palates. I keep hearing all this hype about “living simply” and “getting back to basics.” I don’t know, you probably can’t really draw a comparison between cookies and where society is headed on the whole – but it looked very grim to me. The cookie aisle did not suggest a lot of simple living to me. I sagged, weary with depression in the happiest aisle of the grocery store.
My simple cookies are gone. A memory now, like my Grandmother. A memory of my Grandmother.