Yesterday Mike and I went to New Jersey to spend Christmas Day with his mother, sister, and brother-in-law. Mike’s sister cooked delicious, delicious, delicious food–she really outdid herself–and we made and iced sugar cookies. It had been literally decades since I’d made and iced sugar cookies, and I’d forgotten how bad I am at it. Eventually I gave up trying to be artistic and just went with words, the medium in which I work best.
Something seemed not quite right, however, but I couldn’t figure it out. Eventually, after some meditation upon the historical meaning of the day, I realized what it was, turned the cookie over, and completed it.
I was delighted with my handiwork, and asked Mike whether we could shellac it for future use as an ornament on our own Christmas tree, a request to which he assented readily. I spent the rest of the day pleased as punch, my good mood undefeated even by the ridiculous traffic jam we hit on our way home.
This morning I realized we left the cookie in New Jersey.