Merry Christmas

The whitest Christmas of my life was the winter of '68-69. That was the winter I learned to bake. I was nine years old. The house was warm and fragrant and Gram and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. It was my job to roll the Snickerdoodle balls in cinnamon and sugar. I got to make the crisscross pattern on the peanut butter cookies with a sugar coated spoon. I rolled the dough and cut the cinnamon rolls into perfect rounds with a piece of white cotton thread. I very much enjoyed making those treats -- I would have enjoyed eating them, too -- except Gram kept packaging them up and giving them away. That particular winter lives in my memory for many reasons. And even though I was often wet and cold from playing outside, for some reason my memories of that time are as warm as hot chocolate and melty marshmellows. See for yourself: At, The Grownups Wanted Us Dead .... ... walk atop frozen snow. ... ride on a cardboard sled. At, Matthew 28:19 ... ... enjoy a little Good News