A favorite memory of my Grandma Sannar takes place in her kitchen. Grandma is standing at her stove. She has a wooden spoon in her hand and is using it to stir a steaming stainless steel pot full of hot cocoa. My siblings, cousins and I are sitting around the table, expectantly waiting for Grandma to place those warm mugs of cocoa in front of us. There is some chatter going on around me, but I'm a little tyke, only about four years of age and it has been a long day. My family and I have just arrived in Alaska this evening after a long drive from Oregon through Canada and then a ferry ride from Prince Rupert to Ketchikan. Even in memory I can still feel the foggy tiredness that is making my eyes droop and my families voices seem a bit far away.
Grandma sets my brown cup in front of me and I take a sip. Heavenly chocolate sweetness fills my mouth and the warmness seeps into my soul. As I am tucked into my bed and snuggle down with my favorite blanket and soft pink cat, I know beyond any doubt that I am loved. Sometimes hot cocoa can do that.