The Power of Memory

Memories are fascinating things. They have no physical form—no shape, no weight—yet they can instantly change how we feel. A single memory can calm our nerves, make us smile, or even bring us to tears. They hold enormous influence over our emotions and even our body’s chemistry, yet they exist only in our minds.

Some memories become our greatest source of comfort. Others can haunt us for decades. What amazes me most is how something so intangible can be so powerful.

The Smell That Brings Me Back

For me, that power lives in the smell of cinnamon and cloves, specifically, oatmeal cookies baking in the oven.

That aroma takes me straight back to Grandma Mary’s kitchen.

When my parents were young, they rented a house from Mary Bradford—our beloved “Grandma Mary.” My mom had lost her own mother as a child, and Mary took her in like family. To my mom, she became a mother figure. To me and my siblings, she was Grandma Mary.

Finding Calm in the Chaos

Home was… chaotic. My father, a Korean War veteran, suffered from PTSD long before it was recognized or treated. Like so many others, he turned to alcohol to cope. He loved us deeply—I know that—but life in our house was unpredictable.

Except when Grandma Mary visited.

When she was around, the world felt safe again. Maybe it was her calm wisdom or her quiet faith, but her presence brought peace to everyone in the room. She would invite me into the kitchen to “help” her make oatmeal cookies, and those moments became my sanctuary.

A Legacy of Love and Cooking

That small act—baking cookies together—planted a seed in me that grew into my lifelong love of cooking. To this day, the kitchen is where I feel most at peace. When I cook for family or friends, the world feels steady again. Life is good.

My father’s memories from the war brought him pain until the end of his life. But Grandma Mary’s memory brings me joy, comfort, and gratitude. That’s the incredible power of memory—how it can shape our lives long after the people are gone.

Creating New Memories for the Next Generation

Now that I’m a grandmother myself, I try to be intentional about creating good memories with my grandkids. Simple things—like baking together or making spontaneous trips for root beer floats in the middle of winter—might seem small, but they matter.

These are the moments they’ll remember. They spent part of their childhood in a pandemic, and they hear of wars across the globe, fear of Artificial Intelligence, and constant predictions of doom coming across their attention from TV to social media—and that can feel just as uncertain. So I want them to have their own warm memories to turn to.

The kind that smell like cinnamon and cloves.

When life feels chaotic, I hope these memories remind them that the world is still good.