Memory likes to play tricks on us. Sometimes it takes us to places we once loved but haven't seen for many years.
It was an early morning. I was sleeping when something woke me up. It was my grandson Henry, a boy who was very (intelligence), bouncing (蹦跳) his way down to the kitchen to "cook breakfast".
I suddenly thought about cookies, the perfect cookies my grandmother had made. They were as sweet as a baby's smile. I (extreme) loved those cookies. I learned a lot from my grandmother, whose job was farmer. And she quite took responsibility for her job. She was worth (learn) from. But I never learned how to make cookies her way. I've made them according to various cookbooks. They're not bad, but not half as good as hers were.
I rolled out of bed and went downstairs to hug my grandchild. My grandson said to me, "Breakfast is being cooked by me now." I made some cookies for him. They weren't great cookies, but they were good enough. Henry ate two and kept looking at my cookies with a greedy smile. I made a (respond) to him, "Henry, so far two cookies (eat) by you. Do you want anymore?" Then I gave him half. I said to him, "Come here tomorrow and many more cookies (make) for you." I told him to come here next day. He said, "I am meeting you tomorrow afternoon."
The memories we leave with our children and grandchildren-like the cookies we make-are never made with perfection. They're just made with love. We attach great importance love.
