literature

Gingerbread

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Do we make gingerbread houses to have a party, or do we have a party because we made gingerbread houses? The first time, it was the latter, one huge house decorated by us all, to big to stand without cans stacked inside, with my dad's orderly French windows on one side and my then-toddler brother's Dr. Seuss doodles on the roof. We couldn't eat all that ourselves, so we invited all the playgroup friends, including the little boy who sucked the sugar off the spice drops and spit them back out. Next year we downsized and made four smaller houses that could stand alone, but that results in even more gingerbread and so we rallied the troops, read Hansel and Gretel, and sent home leftover slabs of the stuff with parents, icing crusted on top with colored craters that once held M&Ms.That was our event in the week between Christmas and New Year's, that week when you're no longer excited for that glorious morning of presents but you don't have to go back to school yet.

Eventually our friends got old enough to be busy that week and after a scheduled party to which absolutely no one came, we moved it up to the weekend after New Year, houses baked and decorated after school. Then there was the inevitable year when we forgot to get Hansel and Gretel from the library, so we made it up as a popcorn story, and it got entertaining. The party has evolved but it is still the Gingerbread Party. It was once by word of mouth or the telephone, now there is an event on Facebook.

Last night my mom and I made the dough, a much easier task since we got a stand mixer. Tonight she rolled it out and cut the pieces, and I baked them. Every year she starts out with thick, substantial walls, but as the dough diwndles and there are still roofs to be made my mom rolls it so thin that I can see the silhouette of the spatula through the last one when I slide it onto the baking sheet.

Tomorrow we will make pathways of chocolate rocks acquired in New Hampshire co-op, windows of Mr. Goodbars, shingles of Corn Chex, all held together by my mom's mythical "Almost Buttercream" frosting, which might be slightly mint or almond flavored. Perhaps my dad will make an almond duck like he did one year, and my brother will probably lose interest three-quarters of the way through and have one of us finish his roof.

And then the party will happen, candles lit, houses presented on foil-covered trays, and we will make everyone guess who made which before we eat them. There will be hot cider and tea and milk, and before too long the houses will be rubble, serving their second purpose. We will stand around picking after the first wrecking-ball hands have swung, the teens being asked how school is going and the adults talking about their kids. It is predictable, but enjoyable, and that is why we have traditions.
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forgetyoself's avatar
this is magical :meow: :heart: