Everything that happens to us locks itself neatly into place in our memories: the mind’s ever-growing web. So that a certain fragrance, the angle of the sun, the winds of certain seasons, can propel a latent memory into our consciousness with all of the efficacy of the sudden start of a familiar tune – one that you haven’t heard in a while. When that memory is a pleasant one, a fleeting, rapid succession of another-time-and-place renderings washes over, refreshing, uplifting.

Recently I found a picture of my grandmother that produced such an effect. She is cooking in her kitchen, wearing her white cotton apron with red trim. It awakened a precious memory of her in that same apron, in that kitchen. Stooping to my level so that her face is very near mine - her eyes twinkling, she chants . . .

“I love you heaps,
I love you lots,
My love for you
Could fill ten pots.” 

I am adoring her, am giggly-happy over my grandmother’s display of affection. As the memory unravels, she adds two more stanzas that vary, according to her imagination. Sometimes, her love would also fill . . .

Five dishpans,
Eleven shelves,
And the treasure bags
Of seven elves.

or

Twenty flower pots,
Five freight cars,
Eight tooth fairy sacks,
And all her cookie jars. 

That memory takes me back, and then forward through the years of my grandmother’s life – and of our time together. While I was in college, I once took a semester’s sabbatical, and went to live with grandma in Vicksburg, MS. She had just retired from working as a clerk in a drug store in downtown Vicksburg – a job she’d taken as a way to spend her days after my grandfather had died many years before. 

In Vicksburg, I took a job as a weekend manager at an antebellum bread and breakfast. That left weekdays with grandma open. She showed me through the treasures she’d saved in her cedar chest. We shopped, attended Mass, took trips, and dined out together. But the best part of that spring were the evenings. 

Grandma would talk, while I listened and took notes. We sometimes went late into the night. She talked of her past and heritage until she became fuddled. I took notes and asked questions until I was bleary-eyed. Knowing the days would come that I would not be able to ask questions and hear her answers, I soaked it in like a sponge. 

We wondered what we’d do with all of that “information” – family history, funny stories, gossipy pieces about old neighbors. Years later, after I’d finished college and married, we decided the best way to present our family history and all of the juicy stories would be in a cookbook. 

I made an outline for the book and began logging recipes. But raising a child and keeping house consumed so much of my time. Grandma passed on before we were able to complete our book. 

After two years of publishing a weekly food column in local newspapers, I've been able to compile and complete our cookbook. It is dedicated to my grandmother, Marguerite Schlosser Hanks . . .

I loved you heaps.
I miss you lots.
My love for you, Grandma – 
Has filled Ten Pots.