On The Second Day of Blogmas: Cookies and Cache

It was strange to wake up this morning and see snow piled high on our fire escape. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I walked toward the living room window to get a better look at it. I don’t know what I was expecting … it was snow, the kind they write Christmas songs about and the kind my dad complains about shoveling. 

I couldn’t remember the last time it has snowed before the holidays except for one particular blizzard my freshman year of college. All of the students who had moved to New York City from a warm-weather state like California or Florida decided to run off to Central Park to catch a glimpse of its mythical status. 

And now, here I was thinking more or less the same thing: snow has become a bit mystical. It used to be so common in the Northeast. Common isn’t even the right word. It used to just be how it was. 

I watched stray flakes stick to the windowpane, melt, and do it again. I’ve been trying to be more in the moment — whatever that means — but instead I find myself in a place where everything becomes a bit like poetry, which is always a sticky thing. When my world starts turning into poetry, I know I’m not doing well. 

So I turned away from the view, turned on the Christmas tree, and texted Aleksa – who got called into work on a Sunday. He snuck out in the early hours of the snowfall because I woke up to his chilly bed dent beside me.

 How is it going? 

I turned on the TV to catch the beginning of Elf playing on the comically-sized television my dad insisted was crucial for a married couple to have. It’s okay, I’ll be home soon. I drank a cup of water while Will Ferrell ran around Manhattan in yellow tights on the screen. And then I started baking.

Every year, Aleksa and I host an over-the-top Christmas party for our NYC friends. It’s something we look forward to planning — an excuse to go all out on charcuterie boards and parlour games. But this year, we decided to scale back from our typical yuletide festivities and instead be merry with desserts. 

I finished the cookies, I folded the laundry. I thought about the writing I need to get to and the workshop pieces I need to provide feedback on. I plated the cookies on a large, white tray. I thought about what to get my brother for Christmas. I thought about when I should travel to Connecticut for Christmas. I made up the bed and the credits for Elf swiped up on the screen.

It was a perfectly boring morning, the kind of morning we take for granted because we believe it will always be promised to us. Nothing happened and then my husband came home and hung his snowy coat in the bathtub to dry.

And then our friends came over for cookies. They stayed well into the dark, which comes quickly these winter days, eating sweets and catching up.

That Blogmas Girl