My daughter sits on the counter, the light streaming through the window picking up the gold in her hair as her feet dangle below her gently tapping on the counter as she wiggles.
She picks up the spice jars one at a time, gently opening them and breathing in lightly to take in the aromas.
When she first began this ritual she would ask me questions from across the house.
"Mom, what does coriander smell like?"
"Why doesn't cream of tartar smell like anything?"
"What's dry mustard?"
Watching her, its hard not to draw parallels to the memories of time spent on the floor of my grandma's house in Wisconsin digging through her button jar, asking questions about all of the interesting pieces in her collection.
