My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
And Sweetest Day are arbitrary celebrations that I do not get. If you are someone who thinks those are important I apologize for any offense you may get from this essay but why did you focus on one single day? Well maybe two? Why not celebrate that relationship, that connection every day that it exists?
Valentines Day seems to celebrate sugar and chocolate. Sweetest seems to celebrate flowers. The months that each are in, February is filled with frantic anticipation of warmth returning and, October, dread of warmth leaving the Earth seem to posess little reason for flowers and candy. Nevertheless, clever marketers have made up a reason and then filled it.
Tony Decouple was badgered by Nick and Gayle on CBS the other morning when they had run out of mudslides, fires, snow and Donald to talk about. Tony is not a fan of a big deal special day as I am not nor is Debbie. And when Cheryl was with me she was not or pretended to be as she discovered how poor I was at acknowledging dates. I have had my wedding anniversary ingraved inside my wedding ring since day one.
My term for it is date dyslexsia. Many of you will say just write it on the calendar. That works but what if you have calendar dyslexia too?
Debbie and I spent time together yesterday. We had lunch and enjoyed the cold but sunny day here in southwestern Ohio. Discussed movies and kids but did not exchange candy and gifts. Maybe we are older and wiser and less enamored with the made up marketing ploys. (Maybe I screwed up.)
We first met after Sweetest Day last year so that dyslexic event was not an issue.
I have been thinking about this paraphrase that Debbie has used many times in our conversations. “And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” is the line from the final stanza of Desiderata by Max Ehrmann written almost 100 years ago. I use it on the masthead of my blog. It is a calming peaceful poem. His view of the universe is much like mine a view from increased years. Some would say from wisdom. My years are more increased than his when he wrote it.
A principle of thermodynamics is that the entropy of the universe is always increasing. Debbie, when she says unraveling, is speaking a clearer pragmatic practical truth about our universe. It is unraveling as it should or more correctly as it will. Some would say God’s will. I does not matter as the unraveling happens on its own. Embrace it.
One should be aware of impending doom. Reporters of the weather often drill this concept to the masses of their audience. Aware but do not fret over it. In the case of weather, use the information to dress accordingly. Other situations present other doom scenarios. Prepare as best you can and then move on with your life. Progressive insurance tells you to bundle your home and auto insurance. I do just not with them. Boy scouts say be prepared. (yada yada yada)
It is a mistake to base your entire world view on no more than your own experiences. Max Ehrmann admonishes us to: Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. That is advice I got from my own father long ago. Less elegantly, he said, you should listen to the other guy even if you think he is a jerk because he might actually have a good idea. My dad was a really smart and practical guy. Sometimes I miss conversing with him. It is important to talk to people who do not share your life philosophy, that was his point.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Another line from Max, “aridity and disenchantment”, I read as highs and lows. Every love has that in it. (Give and take – if you like that better.)
Perhaps Debbie and I should sit and remaster Desiderata for our time together. Or perhaps not. The words are a philosophy for the spiritual but unchurched, for the Buddhists in a Catholic body like me.
I use “Carpe Diem” as a sign off to posts that I put here. A few nights ago as Debbie and I were talking over the phone about random topics, she pointed out to me that for me the use of that phrase is a wish. I responded that I think of it as a motto and that spiraled my thought process into analyzing what that phrase meant to me and why I use it as a motto.
A motto is a brief sentence phrase or a single word used to express a principle, goal or ideal – a maxim. This is from my big dict (The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language) which I got from my mother many years ago. The online Merriam-Webster lists proverb as a synonym in their thesaurus section.
Debbie expressed the thought that I use it in the sense of a hope to remain in the present and to remain present to what life brings me. She is right again. I sometimes say to her teasingly that I hate it when she is right but I forget she studied sociological things in school.
Life or, as I like to think, the universal consciousness has brought Debbie into my life. She is a sounding board for ideas of mine and I am of hers. It is curious to me how similar and dissimilar our lives have been before we met. We attended the same schools. Her kiddos and my kiddos attended the same schools. Those are similarities. She chose psychology and sociological studies. I chose engineering, science and technological studies and later in life, education studies. Those are dissimilarities.
Engineers tend to think, plan, organize and prepare for some future activity – an installation, construction, machine, infrastructure – with things. I am always on the hunt for a manual to fix things (and situations), an extrinsic solution. Sociologists work with people – people as they are now. They help them to find their solutions within themselves.
Staying present is hard for me personally. So, seizing the current moment, especially when Cheryl’s disease was getting worse, finding something to do then at that moment, while she was doing good, became incredibly important. I constantly told myself, find what works today.
In that frame of mind I took myself to that first meet up with Debbie over coffee in a coffee house ran by a church group. I seized that moment, that fear of trying something new in my life, and pushed myself out of the doldrums of grief. You do not know if you are ready until you try it.
It worked. So far it is an ecstatic experience with Debbie; conversations about anything and everything, movies and dinner afterwards, fun little field trips, and just talking and flirting on the phone, she is special to me and at the same time I have a niggling fear of that happiness dissipating.
It is a fact that the last person I felt this way with is gone now. I cannot ignore that aspect. Debbie and I talk about that too.
We have now. My hope is our happiness will last until I am no longer. That idea is selfish. It is a wish, however. So far it is a wish fulfilled. (There is the niggling fear again.)
There are a variety of abundant interest (AI) tools out there to play with. And as I am wont to do upon occasion I will use other depictions of the “AI” combination that is often knowingly translated as artificial intelligence.
In a discussion with Debbie, she stated that mad is not a primary emotion. I actually do not think of “mad” as an emotion at all. I think of it as a reaction to some stimulation, such as, some one jumping in front you in a line you’ve been waiting in for some time. But in this instance I felt the need to invoke the intelligence artificielle (French is so cool) and find out Microsoft Copilot’s take on mad as an emotion.
Is mad a primary emotion? I asked copilot (automatic ignorance) and it responded – Yes, “mad” or anger is considered a primary emotion. Primary emotions are basic and universal feelings that are instinctual and immediate responses to stimuli. Alongside anger, the other primary emotions typically include:
Happiness: Feeling joy or contentment.
Sadness: Feeling sorrow or grief.
Fear: Feeling scared or anxious.
Disgust: Feeling repulsed or offended.
Surprise: Feeling astonished or amazed.
These emotions are the building blocks for more complex, secondary emotions that we experience.
… and it continued; What’s on your mind about these emotions today?
Mostly, huh? Love is not a primary emotion?
There is something special or maybe weird or eerie about talking to a computer (it has voice recognition) and getting pseudo human responses. The internet of all knowledge is a huge database now and it is getting huger by the second. Love is a combination of feelings and this game that I was playing with my laptop was fun to play, albeit, not useful as anything other than entertainment.
“Copilot, write a love sonnet to Debbie.”, I said in a moment of playfulness.
Absolutely! Here is a love sonnet for Debbie:
To Debbie, my eternal guiding light, Whose smile outshines the stars in heaven’s height, Thy presence warms my heart through day and night, And in thy love, my soul finds pure delight.
With eyes that sparkle like the morning dew, Thou art the muse who paints my skies so blue. Thy gentle touch, a balm that feels so true, In every breath, my heart belongs to you.
O Debbie, thou art cherished, dear and fair, A constant flame that brightens all despair. In every whispered word and tender care, I find a love beyond compare.
Forever thine, in passion’s sweet embrace, Our love shall soar and never leave a trace. (Wait. Wait. What?)
I hope she loves it! Would you like me to help you with anything else?
Other than Copilot seems to be slightly confused about the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet it is not bad. On the other hand, ABAB CDCD EFEF GG does not forgo A rhyming with B and so on through the effort it put out above. It is very mushy. William would have crushed the paper, I imagine. I crushed the paper electronically and I asked it for another and I specified that certain words be used (caress, hand);
Certainly! Here’s a sonnet for Debbie with the words “caress” and “hand”:
O Debbie, with a gentle touch so sweet, Thy hand in mine, a bond that none can sever. In every loving caress, hearts do meet, In tender moments, lasting now, forever.
With every glance, thy eyes do softly speak, A language known to lovers, pure and grand. Thy touch, a whisper on my willing cheek, Thy caress, a dream, where hearts expand.
O Debbie, thou art joy in every breath, With thee, the world feels bright and ever grand. In love’s embrace, I’ll cherish till my death, And always hold thee close with tender hand.
Forever bound by love’s sweet, gentle grace, In thy caress, I find my dwelling place.
I hope Debbie finds this sonnet as touching as intended! If you need anything else, I’m here to help. Better, I think, pretty many “O Debbie” s but better. Imagine a poorly lighted Shakespearean stage. Perhaps a moon lit stage with the actor looking up slightly off to stage left. So with all that love soaked emotion hiding out in a bunch of circuitry and microchips, why is love not a primary emotion? It did a better job with structure this second time.
I have diverged from my original thought though. Copilot wrote to me, “Primary emotions are basic and universal feelings that are instinctual and immediate responses to stimuli.” This implies love is neither an instinctual nor an immediate response. It shouts there is no such thing as love at first sight! (Maybe I am stuck on primary.) I think it is also uncomfortable in many ways. Love is, of course, a combination of many feelings. There is connection. It has to start there, with a connection to the other person.
If one feels (emotes) all of these for the same person is that what defines love? Tricky one. Merriam Webster says “a quality or feeling of strong or constant affection for and dedication to another.” The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language that I have had kicking around since 1970-something has two notes. 1) agitation of the passions often involving physiological changes (use your imagination) and 2) any strong feeling as of joy, sorrow, reverence, hate or love arising subjectively rather than conscious mental effort. I think that covers it pretty well.
In my never ending search for a manual, however, I decided more research is needed. I visited several psychological web pages and found this handy emoto-wheel. Why did the asinine insistence of Copilot only tell me about six primary emotes? Clearly there are eight and love is in the crack between two of them. I stole this from an organization called Six Seconds.
And “mad” is not a primary emotion. Neither dictionary or any psychology discussion uses the word mad. MAD is the airport code for Madrid’s airport. Plutchik uses the term rage but that does not count. (The heading image is from Tiny Buddha.)
I opened this page to write about my thoughts and feelings this Christmas Day this year this 2024 this time without Cheryl. How do I feel?
Rested for one. I had an enjoyable dinner with my son and his wife and their two sons. I left their house in time for Rudolph and the team to get started without me watching. Here at home I read for a short time and went to my bed with visions of sugar plums, etc. You get it.
I feel a definite lack of enthusiasm in me. I suppose that is normal.
The apparent traverse in the sky of the sun has changed but the morning light is gray. It is overcast and still dark. Thank the lord for Rudolph’s nose.
It will take an extra effort on my part to get my mood out of the doldrums.
I am not feeling it yet but when I think of the saying framed on my granddaughter’s apartment wall in Chicago “Carpe the Damn Diem”, it makes me smile.
I have wrapped all the presents that I have to deliver today and stopped to think of each of them while I was cutting and folding and taping. They are very special to me.
I miss Cheryl today. That is normal. I do not feel bad or sad or anxious or down. I miss her and her holiday enthusiasm.
(“Sometimes love does not look like what you had in mind.” – Anne Lamott)
Perhaps this is one of those days. Perhaps love will surprise me if I look for it in those around me. Perhaps it will wash over me if I let it. Perhaps.
It just is harder. Several times over the past few days I have been blindsided by my own emotions. A hymn in church, a song on the radio, a picture on the Frameo, a note in a Christmas card, any of these and all of these bring to mind memories of glad tidings gone by. If I am completely honest with myself, I started it.
A good friend asked what my favorite song/hymn was and I responded “Hallelujah” and could not immediately remember Leonard Cohen wrote it so many years ago. It was often used in the closing scenes of the show “Criminal Minds.” It is a haunting tune, at least it is to me. I think the rendition that is used on the show is the one by John Bon Jovi. I am unsure of that fact but it haunts me and reminds me of Cheryl and our younger times together.
When that happens I just let it roll over me. It is disappointing that Cheryl is no longer with me but we had a great life together. More than fifty years of love, children, busy, travel, learning, excitement, anguish, grace, parties, dinners, Christmases, Easters, egg hunts, summers and summer vacations, it was a wonderful time. We argued too but we never took that to bed with us. She supported me and I supported her.
Today as I put my last stamps on my Christmas messages I set Spotify to play “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen. After that it wandered off to play a not so random collection of songs from various albums. Yusaf (Cat Stevens) started playing and suddenly I was 25 again. It is interesting to me how that happens. Cheryl has long hair and the kids are little. Yusaf is gray these days, as am I.
And though you want to last forever; You know you never will; (You know you never will); And the goodbye makes the journey harder still – Cat Stevens “Oh Very Young”
It is good to remember those times we had.
Time only moves forward. The Christmas greetings are in the mail.
The bear got his hat out yesterday. Maybe his friend the elf will show up and help celebrate soon.
On this day, however, this day before Thanksgiving Day I am thinking about our life, Cheryl’s and mine, and what a gift it was to us. Tomorrow is the day to count blessings and be thankful for what we have. For me I am also thankful for what we had.
I do not have Cheryl with me any longer but what I have instead is the knowledge that she is not suffering with Parkinson and dementia. I am thankful for that knowledge.
I do have three well educated and successful children who have built successful careers. All of the grandchildren in all of the families are healthy and happy. Some have moved into careers themselves. Some are still figuring it out for themselves but they are all self reliant. Their parents are excellent teachers. I am thankful for the family Cheryl and I made.
I do have my own health. My knees do not hurt constantly like other friends that I have. My hips do not hurt when I walk like others that I know. I was still able to hike four miles up and down the face of a wooded cliff-side in Kentucky. (My legs complained a bit afterward but the bourbon worked. I bought real hiking boots when I returned home.) In the summertime I spent many days riding 15 – 20 miles on my bike. (I am not fast but I can keep up 12 – 15 mph for long stretches. I am not in a hurry. I like to look around me while I ride.) I would like to lose a little weight but my physic will probably never be like what I was at twenty-five now that I am seventy-five. I am thankful for my health.
My sister and I have become much closer. Only she and I are left from our original family. She and I are both widowed and that is sad but it seems like we lean on each other a bit and that is helpful to both of us. I am very thankful for our relationship.
I am thankful for all the help we received from friends and family this past year as Cheryl’s health rapidly declined. I am thankful to all the kind folks at Bridgeway Pointe and Queen City Hospice that took care of Cheryl as she faded. Thank you all.
I am thankful for new friends and old friends who have helped me through the past year.
I am thankful for kindness in the world.
I am thankful that mom taught me a few basic cooking techniques when I was younger and I did not realize she was doing it.
I am thankful that I like to cook and that I like my own cooking. (See the physic comment above.)
I am thankful that things always seem to work out.
I am thankful that I am getting better at staying in the present and not experiencing anxiety for the future. This quote from Matthew pops into my head sometimes (it is true!) when I think about what comes next. [“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.”] I thank Cheryl for teaching me this concept of staying present and Mom for pointing out self-reliance goes hand in hand with that.
Mom left me with a gift that I will always be thankful for. I wrote this paragraph sometime ago: At the very end of her life my mother awakened for a few minutes as I was sitting with her in her room at Bridgeway Pointe which is an assisted living community where she lived out the last fifteen months of her life. When I walked into her room Mom was quietly dozing in her bed. I sat in the usual chair I sat in and waited to see if she would awaken. It was after her dinner time and she often took a nap after dinner. After a few minutes, maybe half an hour, she woke up and looked over at me. She did not have her glasses on but she said, “Paul, is that you?” I replied, “Yes it’s me.” And then she said something that I was not expecting. She said, “Thank you for all your help.” After that she dozed off again. It was the last conversation I had with my mother. She passed away a couple days later. It still makes me cry.
I am thankful that I was helpful to Mom. She acknowledged that to me. All I could say to her was, “you’re welcome.” And I sat in her darkened room as she dozed off again.
We should always be thankful for what we have and what we have had and what we may be given. When someone is helpful to you, acknowledge it and say thanks to them. (Do not whine about it if they are unhelpful – reread the Matthew quote.)
The holiday festivities are here. The Grief Share topic is “how to survive”. Last year was hard enough. Am I expecting it to be harder? I do not know.
This particular weekend has been and is still a busy one. For some simply being busy helps with grief and I suppose that may be true for me too. Fewer folks showed up for the holiday grief share program. Perhaps that is because they are busy with Thanksgiving planning. Perhaps many simply do not want to think about it. I was not thinking about it until the opportunity arose to attend this special group.
This will be the first Thanksgiving Day – which by the way is my favorite festivity – without Cheryl being physically here. Last year she was not mentally here. I do not expect to not be sad and I will not apologize for feeling that way.
When the carpet cleaner folks are finished today I will decide where to put the Christmas tree. And after I make that decision I will get it out of the box and put it up. I did not do that last year. Perhaps I will start a new tradition this year and place the tree in a different spot. Cheryl will argue with me in my head. I look forward to it (the arguing).
Do not be a curmudgeon, Paul. Try your best to be if not happy, at least, up beat. When we gather this year let’s talk about the good times. I remember a Christmas Eve a long time ago when she insisted that I open her gift to me after we had come home. I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep after a night of celebration and maybe a little too much alcohol. She had made me a shirt. She was so proud of it. Those are the experiences that I want to remember. (I do not remember what I gave her that year.) I was then and am still now impressed with her ability as a seamstress. That is only one of my favorite memories.
Another more recent memory from maybe three years ago, she said to me, “Get your music machine out and turn on Christmas music.” She means Alexa. I cringed when she told to do that. I think I grumped a little too and then I went to get the hockey puck I move around to listen to music. A Christmas song or two in among others is okay. WARM 98’s idea of solid Christmas music, old, new, good, bad, chipmunks, Benedictine monks, rock and roll, country-western, some group of nuns, Bing Crosby, etc. a few years ago lost me as a listener. That was not a big deal to them since I rarely listened to their station. Five weeks of Christmas music is agony to my ear. I feared the worst was going to happen – Christmas carols from Halloween to Christmas. There would be no “Monster Mash”. I said loudly, “Alexa, play Christmas music!” Off we went into the holiday season. Cheryl insisted on making cookies that day and I helped her. (I wish I was not so reluctant to do so that day but that day is history.)
Cheryl often told me a story about peeking through the keyhole of the doorway to the living room and seeing all the toys around the Christmas tree. The keyhole got dark and the door flew open. (Uh oh.) There is more to the story and I wrote it down somewhere. I may spend the rest of the day looking for where I put it.
Smile!
Be thankful for what you have been given! Carpe the Holidays and Carpe this Diem and all the rest you are given.
Listen with your heart. It is quieter than your mind.
Listening to my youngest son talk to his oldest son lightens my heart. They have common interests in sports. I do not have a strong interest in professional sport. Those are merely noise off to the side of the snacks and other refreshment.
Many years ago I listened to my father when he told me, you should always listen to the other guy even if you think he is a jerk because he might have a good idea. Dad rarely expressed his judgment of others. He also understood within himself that listening does not happen while one is talking.
Mom had a phrase that I remember from childhood. She used to say, you have to pull up your own socks. I do not know where that came from but I took it to mean that one should seek help from others when necessary but it is up to oneself to get up and move on from any difficulty.
Today I am listening to my heart. I believe I need to listen to that part of me. How do I feel about all that has unfolded in my life. Political noise has had no effect on that. Life and living with Cheryl for three quarters of that time has. She has made me a better man. But so has listening to Mom and Dad and listening to my son’s conversation with his son. So has listening to my heart. In a lifetime of conversation, real conversation, and listening to others in my life, I have concluded that only I can pull up my own socks. And as I write this I think about the times I pulled up Cheryl’s no slip socks (her name for them) in the evening and put her pajamas on her to prepare for bed. She would not accept my help to do that in the morning when she got up.
Last week I retreated from the every day so that I could listen to my heart. I find that to be easier and more fulfilling if I distract myself after awhile with some occupation totally diverse to a previous concentration. This method has worked often for me through life. (The mantra is “sleep on it.”) A book of fiction or movie that has no moral to convey, a romantic comedy will do this for me. The distraction refreshes. I can look for help where I can find it but only I can pull up my socks.
I have been listening to the Grief Share videos purposefully for several weeks. I find myself talking and commenting to the various experts and listening to the people relating their grief story. There is a yin and yang to it all in my thoughts. I resist experts telling me what wine pairs well with what cheese. Occasionally, Dad will say be quiet and listen. (Maybe not often enough do you talk to me, Dad.) So, today I will listen with my heart.
I will remind myself that my concept of God is not the same as other’s concept of God. It is important to see past the literal when reading the Bible or the Quran or any religious text and just listen. Listen to your heart. Meditation an eastern concept helps with this. Prayer a western concept helps with this. Keep an open mind. Be still and just listen. Read Siddhartha. Be still. Listen.
She did it again this morning. At least that is what I thought when I found most of my ingredients out to remind myself what I intended to do today.
A couple years ago, when Cheryl was struggling physically more with Parkinson and her struggle with the dementia aspects of it was taking away her ability to follow simple directions, she coerced (maybe too strong of a word) me into helping her make cookies. I did not want to do it at the time.
Once or twice these were Snickerdoodles. And a couple other times we made chocolate chip cookies, the recipe is on the two pound bag of Nestle’s morsels. “You have to get the yellow bag!” she said to me once when I when I returned from the store by myself in the midst of the COVID pandemonium and price-shopped for supplies. “Those won’t work.” I was disheartened. I had purchased the store brand of chocolate chips. I argued my case for twenty-two milliseconds before realizing that there was no point in contesting the issue further. I returned to the store for the correct chips (“Morsels! It will say morsels on the bag. The bag is yellow.” She spoke to my back as I left.)
I can hear her voice. Little stories like this help me to recall her voice.
Yesterday, because I could avoid it no longer, I went to the grocery to restore my larder to its previous vigor. At the beginning my list had only two things, dried cranberries and raisins. Both of these I add to overnight oats which has become a new favorite breakfast treat. I have a pint Ball jar that is just the right size to contain a half cup of rolled oats, a cup of milk and whatever else I put in with those usually raisins or craisins some honey and chia seeds to set in the fridge overnight. I have also added at times cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamon, vanilla or tahinni and used brown sugar instead of honey. This mixture goes well with my assembly of the coffee in the evening as well as drinking the coffee in the morning.
While putting all away I discovered that the bag of dried cranberries that I purchased would not fit into my quart jar I use to save dried fruit. Alas, some remained in the ziploc bag that only zips most of the time. I left them on the counter to become a healthy evening snack near the apples and bananas.
After preparing some lunch I hunted for some sweetness to satisfy my heritage and hit upon spreading the Nutella look-alike I purchased at Aldi sometime in the past on a saltine cracker and sprinkling cranberries on top. That tuned out pretty good. (If you are not a believer, try it.) I realized that I was inventing a variety of cookie – biscuit or digestive to the Brits out there – and heard Cheryl say, “You could try making a chocolate cookie with stuff in it.” I blame Cheryl when I hear these inventive thoughts about cooking. She was not very inventive with ingredients but very inventive with technique.
I launched myself into search for a basic chocolate cookie that I could modify with extra ingredients. Below is the final product:
2 C. all purpose flour
2/3 C. powdered cocoa
1 tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
1 ½ C. white sugar
1 C. unsalted butter
2 large eggs
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 C. chocolate morsels (in the yellow bag)
1 C. dried cranberries
½ C. smashed walnuts (crushed in the bag but I smash them further)
I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugar for a bit. Whisked the flour, salt, soda and cocoa together in a separate bowl dry and then dumped them into my mixer. (I bought a new mixer recently. It has extra paddles.) After a bit of mixing I tried out my folding paddle and dumped in the rest of the ingredients.
Bake in a 350F (177C) – medium oven 8 to 10 minutes. This lump of cookie dough makes about 4 dozen if you use a teaspoon from your table wear set to scoop and spoon some on to UN-greased cookie sheets like I did. (My mind always wants to grease the cookie sheet and Cheryl always tells me, “No!”)
After 8 minutes on the timer, I rotated the cookie sheets in the oven and added 4 minutes to the time. This worked for me because I dislike (maybe hate) chewy soft cookies. There is something special about just the right crunch that makes me smile.
Cheryl! You turned me into a cookie recipe experimenter. It is all your fault. (Dammit.) I love you and you are right. These are good. The tricky part will be spreading them out in my eating habits. I have eaten three while writing this story. They go well with coffee.
In future experiments I may try crushed peanuts and raisins. GORP cookies sounds good to me.
I wonder which wine pairs well. Pinot Noir? Chardonnay?
A conundrum. There was a big one there in the gap. It was begging to be eaten before I took this picture and I obliged.
Carpe Diem. (life is better with cookies and chocolate)
Adjunct_Wizard 