As spring finally arrives in the Northwest, the daffodils poke out of the last clump of neighborhood snow and Girl Scout cookies arrive.

My sweetheart and I share a sleeve of thin mints that disappear in a flash.

Tucking the green box into the freezer offers little protection to the cache of cookies because we’ll eat ‘em icy.

My sisters and I enrolled as Brownies, and then Girl Scouts, when we were young.

Our mum thought Girls Scouts offered avenues for personal growth and she saved money to buy uniforms.

We wore our outfits once a month, earned badges for our sashes, and learned how to make a kit-bag for camping.

When we were urged to venture door-to-door to sell cookies to neighbors, I balked.

I was terrified of asking strangers for their cash, and hid behind my sisters when they knocked on doors.

My daughters sold cookies to family-members rather than strangers, and we’d dutifully send packages of cookies to relatives in Texas, Arkansas, Oklahoma, California, Ohio, Oregon and Michigan.

We’d tuck into cookies for weeks in the spring: chocolate-covered mints, buttery trefoils, and nutty Tagalongs.

In my neighborhood today, Girl Scouts stand in front of the grocery store and sell cookies on weekends.

No door-to-door adventures and no trips to the post office.

Just a few $5 bills folded in my wallet for a box full of memories.

Savor the clip from The Addams Family movie about Girl Scout cookies:

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11 March 2018

#nativewriter

#nativescience

#girlscoutcookies

#thinmints