I was so mortified I ran into the loos and then balanced on the toilet seat to look at myself in the tiny mirror hanging on the wall. Ideally, let cool 20 minutes so the cookies settle.ĭip 'em in milk, dunk 'em in coffee, box 'em up and give 'em as a gift."She thinks you're pregnant!" said Raymond, loudly, when I got back to the table and told him what had happened. Let cool at least 5 minutes before eating. Bake on the center rack for 15 minutes, in batches. Using a tablespoon, spoon out dough onto your cookie sheet. (Don't worry about over-mixing, as there are no gluten proteins here that would normally make your cookies tough.) Add cranberries & chocolate chips until combined. Add egg, water, and ginger and beat 2-3 minutes more.Īdd wet mixture to dry mixture about 1/3 cup at a time. Beat together with an electric mixer 2 minutes. In a separate medium bowl, add sugar, coconut oil, and maple syrup. In a medium large bowl combine flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Grease 2 large cookie sheets or line with parchment paper. Gluten Free Ginger Cranberry Chocolate Chip CookiesĢ 1/4 cups all purpose gluten free flour (I used Bob's Red Mill) These cookies are sweet & chewy, basically cinnamon cookies beefed up with STUFF. And that has to be ok.īecause right now I have a hard time dealing with anything other than drop cookies. Dazed, distracted things - like bake and take pictures of cookies when you just want to crawl into bed and eat Chinese food alone with the covers over your head while watching old Sci-fi movies. But grief makes you do things that don't make sense. RIP Captain Edwin "Ned" Arthur Shuman III 1931-2013Īnd yes it's weird that I am posting pictures of cookies and a memorial to my grandfather at the same time. Iv.Reflecting sunset like blood -sailors delight -it beats against timepronouncing that deathdoes not come to men made of stone. Only time can wear and whittlea man into sand. Iii.The diamonds and dust of darkest night.Pressed down upon by rusty strangers with sweaty palms and etched faces, handled and hammered and hacked.Broken and put back together.From pressure came this diamondthough bright red andstreaked through -a rough edge or two.Always the truth of the thing:the gem survived the making. Ii.A gem cracks, tossed from helm to bow.Sharp, clean edges worn.Facets clear, though chipped at the edge.We always thought it would be sunk at sea, Dropped over a mountain range,Lost to the air.Who knew it would simply glint in the sun,here and then gone like a magic trick. But of course, beyond that, we're a product of a his strength, pain, and intensity. And here's a poem I wrote (he detested poetry) because I needed to (because it helps).i.Rain tossed in sheets over Baltimore.All air sucked out from the streets. Sky slow and bone white. Hospital windows so clean they're hardly there.Collected, our hearts thunk in unisonsurrounded by tall backed chairsromance novelsold copies of Bon Appetitand sleeping strangers withcoats for blankets.Two at a time to go back.See the cracked stonethat is our Man,chipped with age like a coarsewalking stickthat gives you the fingerso you won't cry. We're all a product of that pointless, ego-driven war. The way we grew up is directly relative to my parents experience with him during and after his imprisonment. His sacrifice - those years held captive 1968 to 1973 - have affected me and my brothers and my cousins and will in turn affect my children. The Vietnam War is still affecting my family today, and that's the truth of it. Grieving the loss of this amazing man, and grieving for all of the painful memories associated with his war-tangled life. His first words to my grandmother were: "You look like a goddamn angel." I don't imagine I will ever know another person with such an artistic grasp on curse words. Like you were part of the inner club of old American glamour. He was the kind of person that made you feel like a badass by association. He was a complicated man who made a lot of mistakes, but above all he was a good man, and a man I am so proud to be related to. I knew him as a sailor and trickster and lover of chocolate tootsie pops - he sincerely hated all of the other flavors. He was a genuine, sweet-hearted bastard and we all loved him for it. For me that-fighting-spirit is - was - my grandfather.Īn ex-POW, a navy captain, a flyer, a fan of the four letter word. And usually that sometime happens when a foundation of that-fighting-spirit gets rubbed away into dust. Your memories, and the imaginings of family memories, and the generations of memories that filled the lives of those that came before you. Sometimes your life gets filled up to the edges with memories.
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