The Great Christmas Cookie Disaster

Sometimes pictures tell the story better than words, and sometimes things get in the way of a well planned blog.  I couldn't quite get organized in my head to send out a Christmas story with our Christmas cards, so I thought I'd write a blog about our year. This morning when I awoke, I must have hit the panic button when I realized that I had only two full days to write the blog, bake the cookies, fix the bean soups and the pasta salads, and whatever else popped up.

After the grocery list had been made I decided to first bake the GF Pumpkin cookies that I dearly love, then spend a few hours compiling our year in pictures for the blog. Three hours later I created a mess that even my friend, Terri Street, couldn't help me out of. 

The recipe called for:
1 cup softened butter
1/2 sugar
1/2 brown sugar
No problem. I put these ingredients in the big red bowl and set them aside.

Next, I blended one egg with a can of pumpkin.  

Then I got in a hurry because my mind strayed to my blog, and I wanted to share an especially funny story from our trip to Scotland, where we learned that "there is no bad weather, just inappropriate clothing." That was our first lesson in the cool wet climate filled with pasture land, rugged hills, and breezes off the great northern waters. How many layers of clothing can you wear and still walk, climb castle stairs, and play golf?   






I turned to pick up the Pamela's Baking Mix that is gluten free, forgot about cooking, and smiled remembering our Weaver cousin family reunion that we hosted in October.

We are all shining examples of Baby Boomers. I was born in 1947, Tom in 1948, Fred 1949, Dana 1950, Jonya 1951, Patty 1952, and Gary 1954. Sadly, our youngest cousin Gary died in 2007 and I inherited his lost and lonely little dog, who has become our vibrant  Lucy dog companion. Most of our children were able to attend and these cookies that I was about mix were a big hit with a family of 2-3 who eat gluten free foods.   

The buzzer on the oven reminded me that I needed to bake the cookies. So, I plopped the pumpkin and egg mixture into the 'uncreamed' sticks of butter and piles of sugar and brown sugar. Still not thinking about cookies and steps in the cooking process, I used my trusty hand held mixer to mix the cookie dough.  ACK!  

The mixture turned out with tiny yellow butter bits the size of couscous mixed with the pumpkin.  I stirred and stirred to no avail. In desperation I called Terri Street, my friend who knows how to cook like a chef and will laugh with me not at me.  She suggested I put small portions of the lumpy dough into my blender and see if it could save the dough.  If had remembered her exact words "small" I might have been successful. Instead, in frustration I dumped it all in the blender and hit MIX.  At that point I realized it was mixing only the bottom inch or

two of the blender. I start screaming in my head, where is the off button.  I dished out the top 3/4 of the mixture, took out the well blended part, and hit mix again. At last, I took my wooden spoon and tried stirring the mixture down into the blender, only to hear the blades go thunk thunk thunk when they hit the spoon. With the thunking and the lid off, I felt the pumpkin mix hit my cheek and saw the spots on the my glasses.  I punched the off button and sighed. 

By now I felt like a wild young scientists trying to save an impending chemical reaction. What more could go wrong. Do I dare go take the clothes out of the dryer and take moment to relax? Why not?  Leaving the kitchen with pumpkin from the floor to the cupboards I walked to the laundry room and promptly removed the jeans and sweatshirts all of which were covered with static cling Kleenex that flew through the air and stuck on me.  Finally, I giggled and picked up scattered Kleenex and shook out the sweatshirts in the garage. Now the garage looks like it snowed.  

At last I finished blending the mix and even feeling a hint of success with the mixture blended and not lumpy. I took a moment to clean up the area, foot mopped the floor all sticky with pumpkin, and to wash dishes. Imagine my surprise when I picked up the wooden spoon and noticed, for the first time, that the end of the spoon had been cut to shreds by the blender. My eyes scanned the horizon for pieces of wooden spoon, and then the realization hit me.

The slivers of wood were in my cookie mixture. Defeat!

I truly did run out of the house with spoon in hand yelling for Jack.  

Such love and admiration I have for my kind and gentle husband, who reassured me that I was not crazy. At his suggestion we threw out the orange blob I suggested that we go to buy two dozens assorted cookies from Fancy Cakes and then relax over lunch at 
la Baguette. 

Fancy Cakes is closed on Monday.  Amy Cakes is closed on Monday. No panic here. Their signs say open Tuesday.  Lunch as La Baguette soothes me and cheered me up with Christmas delight as I saw several friends. Just in case of closures Jack is shopping for more sweet ingredients to make either "Dawn's Ranger Cookies" or the memorable "Pumpkin Cookies."

I Am Woman, hear me roar.  Maybe Helen Reddy was not that good at cooking either. 

Merry Christmas, and Most Joyous Wishes to all.
Letty, Jack and Lucy 

Vanity is Sanity

Dance Recital at the Coleman Theater.

All these many years my legs have pulled me through the

  times of growing pains and comparisons.

A Twiggy or Brook Shields I will never be.

When pimples and body fat appeared on my body,

  I winced and groaned as I looked in the mirror.
Sighing heavily, I shaved my legs while humming:

     

     “What the world needs now is love sweet love.

     It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of…”

                                 Lyrics by Burt Bacharach and Hal David

                                   What the World Needs Now (click to hear the music) 

USGA Jr. Girls Championship. 

  
Through childhood and college years these legs kicked and danced in recitals and drill teams.

They walked golf courses and campuses supporting golf clubs or books.

During the decades of raising kids, it was my legs that pushed me forward,
  that withstood days when I felt like buckling.
Our family Saturday outings took us to the Duck Pond where we jogged
  around the workout/walking path or ran the track,
Teaching our children the importance of commitment to fresh air and
  movement.
My legs glistened in the summer heat,

  reminding me that they held me fast to the ground, like roots of the trees.

Watching a lengthy downhill putt on #6 at Oakwood CC, Enid. 

For a decade I wore short skirts, just to show off my legs,
  a mere glance at my vanity. 

The next few decades I wore mid-length skirts and shorts, but by my fifties
  my knock knees caved inward, my feet gave out

  with arches falling and toes twisting.

What’s a girl to do?

"Vanity is sanity," the older women told me when I was young.

 I began to understand.

 

I dared myself in my sixties to wear skorts on the golf course,

  and sometimes felt self-conscious when I bent over to line up a putt.

I looked around and gained confidence watching women carry themselves

  proudly on the golf course in stylish clothing.

Vanity is sanity, I began to see it in their faces and posture.

Letty and Dawn laughing and posing in
 Bitch Wings at Belmar CC. 

One day, as I danced a step of joy after making a lengthy putt, my left heal 

  kicked my right shin bone, oh ouch!

It bruised immediately showing a bold blood red and purple splotch. 

  What happened?

Another day my dog pawed me with affection leaving a streak of dark

  red bruising down my leg, the next day it was my arms that bruised.

The decades were showing signs of aging, my skin was no longer lush 

  and rich with collagen. 

Don't they make a pill for this, I screamed in my head.
  It was pills for back pain that thinned the skin!

Vanity is sanity. Now I understand.

No defeat for a woman who walks with confidence.

     “I am woman hear me roar….

      You can bend but never break me

      ‘Cause it only serves to make me

      More determined to achieve my final goal

      And I come back even stronger

      Not a novice any longer

      Cause you’ve deepened the conviction in my soul.”

                                             Lyrics by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton

                                               I Am Woman (click to hear the music) 

There are clothes for this:  fitted pants still show the legs but not the scars.

These legs of mine stand strong but bruised.

  I work them out regularly at the gym keeping my posture upright.

Then treat them with tender loving care and lotions galore both night and day.

Vanity is sanity. Now I understand.

MHS Class of 65, Letty and Donna dancing the golf rock and roll. 

How long these legs will carry me, is one of the mysteries of our lives.

I can't prevent the effects of aging but I can love who I am.

Heading into the grays of the approaching winter days and decades,

  I am proud to be a Baby Boomer breaking in another decade.

Now I understand. Loving yourself is not vanity, it is sanity.

Glancing out to the North Sea off the coast of Scotland.