© jb katke

The next thing I knew I was catapulted out of the kitchen, landing at the dining table several feet away.

Laying in my landing spot a few minutes, I took stock of my well-being. Shock that it was, I was grateful arms and legs were all in their proper places. I was going to live.

I was trying to bake some chocolate chip cookies for my man that would equal my daughter, Naomis.’ She makes (almost ) the best I’ve had. Hers are not sprawled all over the bake sheet, but nice uniform, and thick cookies.

I say almost because she uses the same ingredients I do, which is minus the walnuts. It’s all shes’ known, not realizing they could even be better with the walnuts. I’ve never included them because her dad doesn’t like them.

To coin the phrase that Peter Paul Mounds commercials say, “sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.” My Dave has never felt like a nut. But that is getting off the subject at hand.

The cookies were all mixed and ready to be chilled before baking. As I contemplated which mixing bowl to use for chilling, I continued around the kitchen island, forgetting the cabinet door was still open.

Hence, I flew through the air with not the greatest of ease. Admittedly, it was a self-inflicted injury. With a fair amount of time, it was also a home remedy that healed me.

Momma always said, “If you know what your problem is, you have it half solved.” I now close kitchen cabinet doors. They can be hazardous to your health.

The end result; my efforts could not be compared to Naomis’ cookies. I’ve heard good cooks, when sharing a recipe, will deliberately omit an ingredient or useful information.  I hate to think my Naomi would do that to her momma.

This tale was not recently. It must have come to mind because in years past I would be up to my eyeballs with baking Christmas cookies. Not so anymore. Dave and I are empty-nesters and don’t need all those calories. Except my guy really likes his sweets and they have become slim pickins at home. 

These days, we aim  to focus on the reason for the season. A celebration of Jesus’ birth. I’ve heard it said that many babies became a King, but Jesus came as a baby and a King. If you will pardon my pun, he is sweet on mankind, and wishes to be our personal Savior.

He is a Savior, but can only become a personal one by invitation. It takes faith, trust, and an admission that he is a much-needed ingredient in living a good life.

Merry Christmas!