A Little Bit of Larceny

Hearing footsteps from the hallway I quickly slid the large white plastic box back into place, fearing I'd be caught.
   
When I close my eyes I can see her, my mother wearing her faded apron, hands placed firmly around the handles of the familiar wooden rolling pin, back and forth, back and forth, rhythmically spreading the brown sugar flecked dough out in front of her. The filling arranged with care, dates simmered with sugar and nuts, all rolled into a tight log, a December tradition
   
There aren't many cookies I loved as much as this one. My mother avoided all requests, and I suspect it was my punishment for living happily in wedded bliss, to be denied my favorite recipe. I tried with little success to find a facsimile, none living up to my high expectations. The opportunity to pilfer this delicious, mouth watering confection, that truly, in my humble opinion, defies description, presented itself during a visit with my ailing father almost thirty years ago.

Finding myself alone one afternoon, I clumsily carried a chair to a cabinet filled with rows upon rows of cookbooks. Reaching the highest shelf for my mother's overstuffed box, filled with fruit bordered recipe cards and old stained clippings from magazines, I was filled with excitement, and terror, all at the same time. With barely a breath, I copied every word, every ingredient, as fast as I could. There are no regrets for this bit of subterfuge; over the years I was bold enough to ship my mother her own cookies. Perhaps she knew of my criminal mischief, or thought she had willingly shared with me her guarded secret. Either way, my short-lived dalliance with larceny was for a higher purpose. As my mother grew older and no longer had the strength to bake, I looked forward to sending her a box of Date Pinwheel Cookies each December. And that, is a very sweet memory, indeed.