Making cookies with my mom this morning. I feel bad that I'm not more 'jolly' about it. The commercials tell me that I should be smiling, singing, joking, utterly and completely enjoying my task. But my face is drawn and my brow is wrinkled as I mix and knead the dough. I don't like cracking eggs. I am sure an eggshell or two escapes into the bowl. My fingers are sticky and I can't wipe them off with a paper towel. I wash my hands a zillion times. This is supposed to be fun, but its work.
I have lights on the tree and candles glowing and baby it really is cold outside. But in these moments I wonder where all the 'magic' of the season is; Why I look forward to something so much only to have it become another thing on my 'to do' list?
I know that when this season is over I will mourn it. I will have nothing to stave off the lonely months of January through March. Portland winter rain, without the warmth of twinkling lights, is downright depressing.
I jump back into my cookie making, determined to give it the spirit it deserves. Sprinkles. That's what these cookies need. Sprinkles make everything better.
Meanwhile mom is buzzing, her hands elbow deep in dough. She is talking about things I don't understand. Relatives I never knew. Conspiracies I can't imagine. And what Bones is doing on TV.
December 10, 2012
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