Fleeting

I remember standing on a chair, reaching waaaay over into an old one-gallon ice cream bucket about 1/2 to 3/4 (call it 2/3?) full with generic oreo cookies. I would plunge the cookie into a glass of milk beside me until it soaked up enough milk that it was nearly mush, and then nom it with delight. My grandfather was there, and probably my cousin, who is a year younger than I am.

I'm probably about 4.

I remember being held by someone; in my memory it feels as though I'm sort of being held on their hip, if that makes sense. We're at a factory, where my grandfather works, and he's using a paint key to open a small can of paint or varnish for me to see. I remember the smell of the place, the strong odor of the paint. A part of me isn't quite sure that this is a real memory. I'm not sure how old I would have been at this point.

This memory is even less concrete - I'm sure I've pieced a lot of it together from having seen photographs of the event; but we're celebrating my fifth birthday, and we're in the hospital, where my grandfather is being treated (lung cancer, I think - I only remember being told that it was because he smoked). I remember sitting on the hospital bed next to him. I know that I got a set of doctor toys (stethescope, syringe, that mallet they use to test reflexes, a black bag for it all) and green scrubs for that birthday.