This Christmas story is brought to you from Cookie Central at the DeLuca’s house.  It started early this morning; measuring, cracking eggs, flour in the bowl, Or, at least it seemed.  Then the sugar, baking soda, a little salt, and vanilla. Oh, and I cannot forget the butter; lots of butter.

Why is it that flour never stays in the bowl? I really try to be a neat baker, but something takes over. Maybe it’s the cousin to the gremlin who lives in the forest of Christmas trees in the attic, or perhaps a ghost from cookie baking in the past.  All I know is something takes over, and my kitchen is never the same. And if I must say, from my apron to my hair, I looked like a short, small Alp in Switzerland sprinkled with snow.

 Next, the dough goes into the fridge to chill. No waiting time for the weary,  moving on is essential, Recipe up and running, when I accidentally drop a bag of sugar. Sugar flying everywhere, landing like sky slopes on the floor. Who’s that I see?  It can’t be! It’s Ethel the cat, walking gingerly on patches of white spots, leaving her tiny paw prints. She’s not happy that little girl of mine, as she leaves a trail of white leading around the island. Aw, how cute, no time for this. Grab the broom, sorry old girl, I love you dearly, but your prints must go.

The white was gone, not a grain to be found. What’s that I hear, the mailman, pushing mounds of mail, through the slot of old. Time for a break and maybe some tea, as I settle in to read with joy the jolly cards that made me smile.

Hark, is that a key unlocking the sliding glass door?  And what to my wondering eyes should appear, my dear sweet husband, hungry, looking for something good to eat.

It can’t be that time! Oh me oh my. It feels like the morning flew faster than a witch on her broom at Halloween.  As I made Rick tuna with a thick slice of onion and placed it on two slices of whole wheat bread, he asked,  “How was your morning? Did you get a lot of cookies baked? By the look of the kitchen, you must have worked very hard. I am impressed, I can’t even tell that you baked today.  I looked at him and said not a word, just smiled, all frazzled inside and out. As I thought of the flour flying through the air, the bag of sugar swimming on the floor, Ethel, making her snow-white tracks, the cousin to the gremlin who keeps bringing trees, the ghost of baking cookies past, and the spots of flour decorating my hair,  I grabbed my coat and headed out the door. Perhaps I’ll go to the bakery close my eyes, take a deep breath and dream of plates of cookies, baked, decorated and waiting to be enjoyed. Or maybe not!

Published by cynthiajeandeluca

My name is Cynthia Jean DeLuca. I am a wife, mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. I believe in following your dreams and never giving up! Helping others is very important to me, for when we help others, we help ourselves. It is my hope to make a difference in the lives of children and grown-ups. My hobbies are writing, quilting and painting. I am a novice at all three but, enjoy them immensely. I grew up on a farm with no indoor plumbing and no heat in our upstairs. I love life and have a very strong faith. Working on inspirational short stories for grown- ups. Love to speak on topics that touch my heart.

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