Musings over cookies...

I have 57 cookies in a red food container waiting to be sent to Florida.  I may have spent a little too much time baking cookies tonight, and I had to blog as a result.  Something about the sense of smell sends memories flooding back.  Combine that with any of the other senses, and you’re stuck with whatever memories decide to show up.  Being the domestic that I am, I have baked a LOT of cookies in my day, so I have my fair share of cookie and baking memories.  You’d think cookies wouldn’t be blog worthy, but you’d also think that people wouldn’t get offended about comma use, and here I am. 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…  After baking 24 chocolate chip cookies, I moved on to snickerdoodles.  I made them from a mix rather than cheating (as much) with frozen dough.  Stirring was not going as planned, so I thought back to when I made snickerdoodles in the basement of Dykstra dorm with a girl named Alyssa.  I can’t remember who got frustrated with the dough first, but I was the one who ended up smooshing the dough with my hands.  I also ended up brandishing butter at somebody and picking things up with my toes…? Normal.

That evening, our boyfriends showed up to eat the cookies.  The Hope ex loved snickerdoodles, so he was very excited to eat them.  He bit into a cookie and put it back down quickly.

Zac: What did you do to them?

Me: I baked them…  From scratch, actually.

Zac: Well, I knew that much.  You can taste the difference between real cookies and fake ones. (*Note: I bet he was one of those who you could give a water bottle to where the water’s been poured out and  refilled with tap water, and he would brag about knowing the difference between bottled and tap water.*)  How did you put the cookie on the cookie sheet?

Me: I rolled the dough into walnut-sized balls—

Zac: So far, so good.

Me: –and then I squashed them with my thumb because I didn’t know how they would spread out.

Zac:  Oh.  That’s where you went wrong.

Me: That’s where I went wrong?  Anything else?

Zac: No.  Next time you’ll hopefully do better.

In retrospect, I should have slept with his roommate.  I’m kidding.  I just didn’t bake him cookies ever again.  I stuck with baking for people who actually appreciated it.  I mean, not a big song and dance about cookies, but still.

There were lots of people on my College Program who got cookies.  I had a bigger apartment than most, so many of the Skipper Movie Nights were at my place.  Much of the food ended up being my doing as well.  When you make the time to do entertain on a small scale, it doesn’t take much work to put on a nice shirt, pour spinach dip into rye bread, whip up bean dip, make worms and dirt, cover something in chocolate, and have Frank Sinatra playing in the background by the time people show up.  My ex Gui had seen me host or co-host parties all the time (what he probably didn’t realize was that the only thing to stress me out when he was around was him). 

When we both found ourselves in the Midwest, I realized that the only things that actually held us together were working for Disney and not seeing each other every day.  He’d call every day so I could entertain him over the phone.  He refused to make friends in Detroit.  He’d always say I was the reason why he moved there, so I had to show some gratitude.  Spring of 2010, phone calls were a matter of, “Hello, Tiny, did you do anything today?  Make it live!  …that sounds boring… Want to hear about my day?  I actually did something important.”  He’d call the house if I didn’t answer [When I lived with Wayne two summers ago, he did NOT have that house number.  I could go out and leave my phone off.  It was amazing (How did I find these people?!)].  By that time, I didn’t make cookies specifically for Guillermo.  I only made cookies if someone from my College Program came over.

Before I left for Disney that summer, I made Mickey shaped rice crispy treats, put them on a stick, and dipped them in chocolate for my 60’s Lit class.  On the way to school that evening, Gui called.  Granted, it was about a week after I called off the wedding, so he was quite angry with me.  It wasn’t the beginning of the end, really, just a continuation of it.

Me: Can I call you during my break tonight?  I’m running a little late because I was baking, so I’m frazzled.

Gui: You were baking?  For who?

Me: My 60’s class.  Since I am leaving tomorrow, I’m missing the final.  Holt let me take it early.  I made Mickey rice crispy treats like they have in the parks for him, but I couldn’t just make them for him... so I made about 15…?

I could hear him huffing over the phone.

Gui:  I don’t know why you bother.  Are you at least getting paid for this?!

Me:  No.  It’s a gift.  You don’t ask for things in exchange for gifts.

Gui:  I know what a gift is!  I’m not an idiot… I just don’t see why you should just bake for people!

Me:  Because it’s nice, and I’m leaving tomorrow!

I had to hang up after that.  He didn’t see why I should bake for people?  I didn’t understand why I shouldn’t bake for people. If you ask me, I think it’s a nice way to show people that they matter.  The subtext when it comes to baking is that somebody matters, somebody is loved, and somebody is cared about.  It’s simply a nicety.  Instead of not baking anymore, I just stopped telling Gui if I was baking…or anything, really.

By this point, people don’t seem to be offended by me baking cookies.  My cookies don’t come with hidden agendas, and I am not fishing for compliments (even if the first anecdote doesn’t sound that way), so I bake when I get the chance or make the time for it.  While I was baking this evening and these memories popped into my head, I couldn’t help but think about how much I love the smell of freshly baked cookies.  For a moment, I thought, “It doesn’t get much better than that.”  I had to shake my head at myself—I’m shaking my head again, folks, because I’m about to gush. 

There is most certainly something better than the smell of freshly baked cookies.  Tonight I made cookies for my boyfriend Josh, and after 6 months with him, I can honestly say that being myself and happy with somebody else beats the smell of freshly baked cookies.  No contest.  And as silly as it sounds, not having to worry about failing at snickerdoodles or being chastised for baking for a class is also a heck of a lot better than the smell of freshly baked cookies.  But perhaps my favorite part is that my boyfriend deserves all the freshly baked cookies I can send his way.  I think that may be what makes the difference.