Memory.

When I was a little girl,

I would always sit next to my Grandma in church.

Every Sunday she would wear a light sweater with deep pockets where she kept a handful of little cinnamon hearts.

Every few minutes during the

meeting I would reach in her pocket and grab a few,

pick out the pocket lint, and pop them in my mouth.

Now she keeps them in a dish on her kitchen table.

I love the memory that they bring each time I visit.

And I even sneak a few every so

often and they are just as yummy.

Even without the pocket lint.