Printable Memory Journal

Memory: The afternoon Grandma taught me to make pierogi People present: Grandma Irena, me (age 9), my cousin Anna (age 7) I can still feel the flour on my hands. Grandma's kitchen in the old house smelled like onions frying in butter — that was always the first thing you noticed walking in. She had a wooden rolling pin that was smooth from decades of use, and she let me roll the dough while she filled each circle with potato and cheese. Anna kept sneaking bites of the raw filling and Grandma pretended not to notice. She showed us how to press the edges with a fork, and mine were messy — some burst open in the boiling water. Grandma said those were the 'generous ones' because they shared their filling with the water. She never once made me feel like I had done it wrong. Emotion: Warmth, belonging, the specific safety of being a child in a grandmother's kitchen where nothing bad can reach you. Also a sharp tenderness now, writing this, because Grandma passed six years ago and this kitchen no longer exists. But the taste of those pierogi — even the burst ones — lives in my hands every time I make them.