So I made cookies. To give to neighbors as holiday gifts.
(By which of course I mean that I baked the portion of dough that was not already in my tummy.)
Some of the cookies came apart from cooking sheet to cooling rack.
I said to my husband, "If you eat any, eat the broken ones,” because I wanted the good ones to give to the neighbors.
And then I was like, Wait a second.
This is my partner.
This is the person who puts up with my ridiculousness every day, and makes me laugh more than anyone else on the planet, and is generous to me when I am being a complete and total shit.
I literally trust this person with my life.
Why am I telling him to eat the broken cookies?
I paused Netflix and told him, "You know what? You are my favorite person in the whole world. Eat the very best cookies."
And I guess my holiday season / marriage/ cookie message is this:
We're all ridiculous people.
We're only here a very, very short time.
If you're lucky enough to find someone who wants to spend every day (and night) with you, and that person still manages to love you?
Pause Netflix.
Tell them what a good egg they are.
And by all means, give them the very best cookies.
(N.b. This is lightly edited and heavily self-plagiarized from a piece I wrote in December 2013. Like The Tradobligation Flowchart, it struck a chord with friends who have asked me to share it every year.)
As 2023 comes to a close, I wish you and your favorite loved ones — be they human, animal, or in spirit — cozy shelters, joyful hearts, and nourished tummies.
I’ll be taking a holiday break for the next couple of weeks. I’ll be back in early January.
Until then, each and every one of you have my love and gratitude.
You readers of Unruly Quaker have brought immeasurable warmth and joy into my year.
Please, here, have some cookies, fresh from the oven.
XOXO
Your cookie story has served me well over the years. Keep repeating it. Happy holidays!
Thank you, JJ! A good reminder.