Forgot Great-Grandma's Name at Church Potluck

I’ve been attending my church’s monthly potlucks for as long as I can remember. It was the highlight of my week back when I could get around easier, but now that arthritis has slowed me down, it feels more like a weekly chore than a treat. This month, I decided to bring an old family recipe for chocolate chip cookies, you know, the kind that make everyone want to stay longer and chat, rather than rush off with their plates full. But there’s one catch: Great-Grandma Rose had taught me how to bake these many years ago, right before her memory started fading too much, and I must’ve been more nervous about baking them for everyone else than remembering my great-grandmother’s name properly. So when someone asked if I could remember who taught me this recipe so they could pay their respects to the person, I couldn’t help but draw a blank. Oh no! My face went red like those tomatoes from our garden in summer. Everyone just chuckled and said something about how it takes more than forgetfulness to stop the great cookie traditions of our family, which made me feel better, I guess? Still though, Great-Grandma Rose would’ve been rolling over in her grave if she knew how much my mind slipped up on this one occasion.