Kathy
Gehört zum Inventar
Italian Cookie Story
An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the
agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his
favorite amaretto cookies wafting up the stairs. He gathered his
remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With labored breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the
kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the
kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted
wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table,
landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the
wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly
bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its
way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......
"Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."
An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the
agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his
favorite amaretto cookies wafting up the stairs. He gathered his
remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With labored breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the
kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the
kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted
wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table,
landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the
wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly
bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its
way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......
"Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."
