I am torn today. Torn at what to write about. Mixing in my mind are cookie-dough thoughts to roll in bowls of sugar. I’ll drop them one-by-one on baking sheets before sliding them into warm ovens where soon the buzzer will ring. My words are done! Delectable bites and delicious morsels will ever so gently be lifted to white paper towels for all to cool. Soon they’ll pop up on the screen.
Occasionally, the recipe is not quite right. I forgot to pinch the salt or add a dash of nutmeg. Worse yet, I left out a whipped egg! Even then, something on the screen will be seen whether it’s good or bad. Today, I’m hesitant to type it there. It’s Christmas time. All things should be merry and gay. That’s not what is on my mind today.
“Surmounted difficulties not only teach, but they hearten us in our future struggles” James Sharpe
Growing up, my extended family on my father’s side included very Special Aunts who lived with “Chronic Conditions.” As a little girl, I never questioned such. When, Aunt “Mimi” was wheeled in through the front door of my grandmother’s annual Christmas Eve party, snowflakes whipping all around her, she beamed with delight at the sight and sounds of nieces and who waited for her. Reaching out, I quickly grabbed her petite hand to hold in mine. Her motor skills were dwindling even then. Often, I sat on the floor near her wheel chair to listen to stories describing her latest craft project. At her home overlooking the bay, she created all sorts of wonders ny gently crooked hands, taking precious time. She spoke slowly and deliberately, her speech difficult to understand by an illness that slowly robbed her body of her former self.