This morning I found myself standing in the baking needs aisle of the grocery store, contemplating the “annual making of the Christmas cookies.” My eyes jumped back and forth from the long list I held in my hand to the ingredients stacked on the shelves. Twenty pounds of flour, 20 pounds of white sugar, molasses, peanut butter, vanilla, peppermint and almond extract, chocolate chips, Crisco, Karo syrup, canned pumpkin, colored sprinkles, brown sugar, ginger, cocoa, cinnamon, dates, walnuts and pecans all found a place in my cart.

I paused to cross the items off my list before moving on to the dairy section for eggs, butter and cream cheese. As I admired the bountiful holiday displays, I thought about how highly ambitious all this holiday baking is. Who am I kidding? When did I think I was going to have time to make one batch of cookies, let alone several different kinds of Christmas goodies?

I backtracked to the produce section to choose lemons and oranges, candied fruit and cranberries. Pushing an overflowing cart, I headed to the check-out and reviewed my list. Drats! I forgot Marshmallow Fluff and M&M’s. I rushed to fetch these last items before losing my place in line.

As I packed the trunk of my vehicle full of groceries, I began to devise a plan to beat the Christmas clock. Let me see, a batch a cookies a night for 10nights running; perhaps a couple marathon weekend baking sessions with my 3-year-old grandson, Addison, sitting at my kitchen counter, manning the wooden spoon; a vacation day spent decorating the house and wrapping gifts – I really can do this, I think.

If I’m really creative, I reason, I can find time to produce the cookies. I can work the task around my full-time job, writing, spending time with my grandchildren, holiday shopping and regular household chores. I just need to tweak my schedule a tad and juggle my priorities.

I arrive home, find room for the cookie ingredients in my already bulging cupboards, eat a bowl of soup so I won’t be tempted to dine on raw cookie dough, and put on my slippers and apron. I set to work while listening to “The John Tesh Radio Show” on 94.9 WHOM. Plotting and planning joyfully, I grate lemon rind and mix it with butter for the Christmas tree cookies I’ve made every holiday season for more than 30 years.

I can do this. I want to do it. I can make time for this, the creation and giving of the Christmas cookies. After all, this tradition is in my blood, passed down to me from my mother.

As I measure flour, sugar and spices for the gingerbread boys Addison and I will roll out and decorate on the weekend, I find myself looking forward to the task. After making two kinds of dough – one delicately pale and citrusy, the other pungently spicy with cinnamon, ginger and cloves – are wrapped and set in the refrigerator, I go to the basement to find decorative tins. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I stored them away. Every winter, the recipients return these empty tins to me in hopes that they will be given more cookies the following year.

This is the time when a few friends and family members begin “cookie hinting.” “I sure would like those peanut butter blossoms this year.” “I can’t wait to taste your chocolate crinkles again.”

Others are downright bold. “You’re going to make The Cookies again, aren’t you?!”

Every year, I think perhaps I will give up this madness, that I will not bake. Instead, I will spend my time reading by the fire, learn to ice skate and sleep in on Saturday mornings. I meditate on all the possibilities, but return yet again to my holiday tradition, my Yuletide touchstone, my sweet obsession. I am driven.

I am Creator of The Cookies.

Karen Schneider is a freelance writer living in West Bath. She may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].