If you’re family, friend or a long-time reader of this blog, you know the story of my late sister, Rose. For those of you who don’t, Rose was 15 years older than me, and was murdered by her estranged husband when I was 16.
When Rose died, my Mom inherited some of her things. One of them was a cookie jar, whose lid had been broken some time in the past.
Mom was from a farming family and always grew flowers in her yard. A short time after Rose’s death, Mom picked some flowers, put them in the cookie jar bottom and placed them on Rose’s grave. And a few days later, we discovered that the cookie jar had been stolen.
That just added to the heartbreak my mom was experiencing at that time.
I’ve never forgotten about that cookie jar. I have no memory of the lid at all, but I remember the bottom was yellow, it resembled a beehive, and that there were tiny bees on it. I’ve kept an eye out for it in recent years at antique and thrift shops.
Last weekend, while on our overnight trip to the mountains, I spotted a cookie jar very similar (if not identical) to Rose’s in an antique shop. I snapped a picture of it, but didn’t buy it. A day or two later, I mentioned it to Motor Man. And he immediately made plans for us to go back to that antique shop.
And the cookie jar was still there….waiting for us.
~These Days Of Mine~