Category: Letter

Cousin Kim,

Perhaps no physical object goes further back into my childhood memory than my grandmother’s cookie jar. The one I remember was the same shape and lid style as the one shown here.

It didn’t take a 3 or 4 year old long to realize every trip to grandma’s found fresh baked cookies waiting, all the way to the top of the jar.

My mother sometimes took us 4 young children by train from Schenectady to visit my grandmother in her childhood home in Port Henry. Normally my father would load us on the train, drive up a week or so later, then drive us all back. I had taken that train ride often enough to know every stop. I would call them out, along with the conductor, as he came through, “Ticonderoga, Crown Point, Port Henry…”. He always gave me a big smile.

This time was different. While my father was at work, my Aunt Barbara brought us to the station. We never returned south again. My grandmother’s house became our home.

In Port Henry, my grandmother awaited us. Arriving in her driveway, I immediately ran into the house to the pantry. A 7 year old, just tall enough to reach up, lift the lid, my favorite oatmeal, walnut, raisin cookie soon in hand.

Daughter Hilary hosts a monthly “baking day”. Open invitations to friends are extended to stop by. Fresh baked cookies continue to appear and disappear throughout the afternoon. When Hilary began looking for a cookie jar, she did so with great care. A special container for any leftovers.

Fresh baked cookies continue to take on a special significance to me, a food that serves not only the palate, but the soul. Some might not see a connection between grandmother’s cookie jar and Hilary’s. I feel an ethereal connection.

I’m curious to know if any physical objects you recall from your early childhood stand out in a way that might be similar to what I feel about an old cookie jar.

Good morning my friend,

I’ve chosen to write these First Words to you for many reasons. Although I am unable to recall our first meeting, I am able to note that there is no single friend I have had that I can trace further back throughout adulthood. Reason enough to seek your help in my newest endeavor. Real reasons are often complex, I trust they’ll be revealed. I’ll start with your unique ability to cut through the everyday bullshit. Our world, as seen through you my friend, is hidden from those that make it what is and, perhaps more importantly what it is not.

A main focus of this blog, WhereIDwell.net, is intended to be Letters Written and Answered, in the style of hand written letters. I might rightly say this is a beginning. Although I had no way of knowing it at the time, this began in the shadows of that first day you and I met in the late 1960’s.

You were Frank when we first bonded. I was newly wed, a father sooner than expected. Not long after, I was among the first you told that you would also become a husband and father sooner than planned. We took jobs at the local IBM plant. We both attended UVM, you graduating. Me, well just say I’m in contention for most credit hours without that parchment I could hang on my wall.

That life, a safe one, wasn’t meant for you, and it wasn’t meant for me. We kind of drifted off in our own directions. When you surfaced again, I heard you were off to Alaska. Folks were calling you Yukon.

You became Yukon Frank.

I thought to myself, if only Yukon might help me as Saku helped him make a little sense to the world in which I dwell.

So I’m seeking your help. No timetables. No rules. Answer questions with other questions, or answer them not at all. We owe no one explanations. What I do trust is that there is great depth to our common overlapping history.

What might we uncover from that history?

Please join me on the journey.