A story inspired by my story…

My dad told me that when he was little he stumbled over a pile of snow that turned out to be a dog. He couldn’t remember what happened next. I would have tried to convince that dog to come home with me. How? I’d tell it about my grandmother’s cobbler, of course! Nobody made cobbler like Grandmother. When I became an adult, she shared her recipe with me. I make it every Christmas and for my dad’s birthday. Here’s the recipe:

Know someone who likes to cook? Ask them to write out their favorite recipe for you. Whenever I use this recipe, I see my grandmother. I see her sense of humor and her creativity. I see how she didn’t sweat the small stuff. I see her trusting her gut, going by feel, enjoying herself. I see how much she loved me. She loved me so, so much.

My Grandmother, Lillian Lazenberry Martin (and little baby me)

How did she even have time to bake? My grandmother was a human rights activist, a banker, a commissioner, a teacher, a journalist, and the mother of 6 children.

If she didn’t have a seat at the table, she hovered over the people who did

She used to say, “Don’t take any wooden nickels.” Were wooden nickels a thing once?

Listen to your grandmother