Christmas Cookies

Christmas is losing its magic. I remember when I was a little girl and every Christmas my mom and I would make cookies from scratch. We had all the ingredients laid out on the counter, no "pre-mix" boxes. After throwing all this in we had the dough. We would roll out the dough and get out all of our cookie cutters. We had bells, stars, Christmas trees, and so many other shapes. We would carefully cut each one and reuse the in-between cuttings for more. Of course some of the cookie dough mysteriously disappeared. Sometimes when there wasn't enough cookie dough left for a whole pan of cookies we would make on big one, usually shaped like a gingerbread man.

While they were baking, I would help my mom clean up. My way of cleaning consisted of making more messes, but I had a fun time doing it. After long last the timer would go off and I knew they were done. Mom would check them first to see if they were ready to take out. Then there they sat, perfect stars, trees, and men-shaped cookies just begging me to eat them. Although I wanted one so badly I knew I should wait. Then came the agonizing time of letting them cool, because you can’t ice it while they’re hot. I never knew why we had to wait back then; I just accepted it as fact and moved on. This unquestioning acceptance is one of childhoods golden gifts.

This was the best part, the icing. First, we would get out the white icing and the different food coloring. We had red, green, blue, and yellow. Using these colors I made purple and orange. This is the messiest process in this cooking extravaganza. The icing goes everywhere, my hair, nose, and anything that was in a five-foot radius. I was an artist. A creator, if you will. As a young Picasso I had an eye for color; my trees would be purple and my stars green, abstract art. There were also Michelangelo realism moments when the men-shapes would soon resemble my bothers, at least in my imagination they did.

Now for the last touch; the sprinkles. There were red, pink, yellow, blue, green, purple and orange, every color I could dream of was there. I would dash some on this cookie and some on that one. I gave the men eyes and the trees ornaments. It was as if the heavens opened and the rain poured down as sprinkles. My friend once said, “I like sprinkles, they make me happy.” At the time I laughed at her, but I realize it is the truth, they make me happy too. I also remember silver little balls that my grandmother use to have on all of her cookies. I cannot remember what they were called I just remember my feeling of excitement every time I saw them. She doesn’t use them anymore though, so now they have become just a memory.

This year when we made cookies we got out the prepackaged cookie dough and sliced them on to the baking pan. They are round and plain, no stars or trees. I did get out the food coloring in an attempt to relive the good times. But it won’t be the same. I am not a young girl anymore; I am growing young lady who has no time for such nonsense. But I wish I did have time, I wish I could be a small child again. I wanted to write this memory to preserve it, so that I do not forget the magic Christmas holds.

Perhaps I am wrong about the magic of Christmas. I have probably become too caught up with my schoolwork. I stay up late into the night studying, writing papers, doing anything and everything it takes to get that A. I looked forward to this break, not to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, not to see my family, but for the selfish reason of not having the responsibility of schoolwork, even though it has followed me home. I was wrong. Christmas can’t lose its magic, people just forget about it and can’t feel it anymore. But now I can feel it. I can feel it in my family, I can smell it in the air, the magic is here and was always here waiting for me.