I remember mother's oatmeal cookies, enhanced with pecans from the homeplace in east Texas and raisins. When my kids were late for the school bus and had to skip a sitdown b'fast, I'd send them down the lane with cookies and milk. They'd leave the cups in the mail box. The recipe is from a 1950s two-volume Encyclopedia of Cooking. I can find out how to prepare any edible thing on this planet that I'd be willing to eat (and some I would not), how to prepare the jars to preserve it, how to candle an egg and, when the chicken stops laying, how to send her to Valhalla on a platter. [I did that once. A real learning experience I do not recommend.] Mother gave me a brand new set so long ago they now resemble hers; the covers are hanging by a thread.
