The Cookie Tree

In the corner of the dining room, next to the rectangular-shaped window that looked right on to West Street,
stood the cookie tree in all its glory. The Saran-wrapped ornaments, tied off with white curling ribbon, hung gracefully from each level of boughs. These delicate decorations had all been fashioned by a woman who paid attention to detail. Each pretty adornment was a cookie.
My grandmother was a details kind of girl. That is what I loved most about her. That may be why I have the Aunt Chick's Cookie Molds now.
The cutters have deep carvings in them that transfer over to the special recipe dough. One can't help smiling at the wink from Santa's cheery brow, or feel small under the majestic star of Bethlehem, or want to leap at the sight of the reindeer.
I have not assembled a cookie tree every year. Hand-painting the baked cookies is time consuming. My grandmother was generous enough to embark on the crafty project even with very disabling arthritis. I'm sure she did it for us. I can remember crawling on my belly from the bedroom, while she was sleeping, just so that I could pluck a cookie from the back branches. A covert cookie operation!
Sometimes a memory becomes a memorial. This year, as a tribute to Fluffy, I can't wait to erect a cookie tree!