What you make with our pins can be sweet — literally and figuratively.
Take a cookie, for example. That’s sweet. Now, even if you accidentally burn that cookie and still give it to someone, chances are they’ll smile and say, “That’s sweet.” Not because of the cookie, but because of the gesture. The time. The thought.
Sometimes, just stepping into a kitchen stirs up something deeper. Maybe it takes you back to long, warm summers spent with your grandma — who, not surprisingly, was the sweetest person you knew. Maybe you're in the kitchen now with your kids, covered in flour and sugar, making an absolute mess. One day, that chaos will become one of the sweetest memories.
For me, the kitchen will always remind me of my grandmother. Every summer, we’d spend time in her tiny 1800s home. I can still see her little kitchen table where I sat for hours, learning the rhythm of the kitchen — how to knead dough, when to pull the bread out of the oven, how to listen for that soft bubbling that means the fruit leather is almost ready.
I adored her. I hung on her every word, every bit of wisdom. I’d watch the pink curlers in her hair bounce as she moved around the room, and I loved the familiar creak of her worn wooden floors. More than anything, I just loved being near her — soaking in the love she gave so effortlessly.
If I could go back and sit at that table one more time, I would in a heartbeat.
All of it — the learning, the laughter, the love — happened in a kitchen.
And maybe that’s why, with what we make, there will always be in every sense of the word, sweet.
Take a peek at her famous Chocolate Pistachio Pie...