It's All About Cookies
It just isn't quite Christmas time without my "cheerren" around. I made a stab at creating some cheer by baking the traditional gingersnaps last night. Figured that if that worked I might graduate to baking some sugar cookies and maybe even decorate them. But then my mind swiftly went to the memories of my kids decorating them with me. I still have the Avon cookie cutters than leave impressions in the cookie dough. I would pipe a hat and scarf on the snowmen and they would dip them in sparkles. Then I would pipe on eyes, nose and buttons and they would stick on raisins and redhots. Then there were the Santas, trees and angels. I continued to do them myself after they refused to participate anymore. They still loved to eat them and kept reassuring me that they were way better than any of the cookies their friends moms made. Then they moved into their own places and I still made them and they came home for Christmas or I sent them to them. Then my husband retired, started a new career and we moved to Nevada.
So, really, I think I have been faking Christmas for a long time now. Last year I didn't even send out Christmas cards for the first time since I was probably 18. Our Christmas tree is one of those artificial prelit trees in a plaster planter that is supposed to sit outside. Last year I decorated it. So far this year, we're lucky if someone plugs the lights in. We've decided no stockings hung by the chimney with care for the first time (It's a gas fireplace anyway).
Maybe I should try making "the little white guys". They are my version of Russian teacakes or Mexican wedding cookies. I shape them into little logs and bake them a little longer than most. As soon as they come out of the oven I set them in a half inch layer of powdered sugar, then I sift another half inch layer on top of them. I decorate them by piping on two green leaves to represent holy and add a redhot. My husband always warns, "Hold your breath when you put them in your mouth or the powdered sugar will suffocate you". He would walk over hot coals for these things. They melt in your mouth and take you to a place you should only go during sex. Well, that may be an exaggeration!