Yesterday, Leigh Ann Eck, one of my fellow December haiku-ers commented, "Your last three poems all have baking as the subject. This must tell me something about the writer!"Her comment made me laugh, because actually I am probably pretty close to the world's WORST cook/baker. My boys think homemade cookies are the break and bake dough you buy in the refrigerator department at the grocery store. Every year I think about baking Spritz and frosted sugar cookies, but I never quite get around to doing it.
The poems are coming, I think, from the time I spent with my mom's mom, my Grandma Grace. Grandma Grace was a librarian in the Chicago Public Libraries and lived over one thousand miles away. Every year, she would arrive a week or so before Christmas and bake and bake and bake. I spent many, many hours watching her in the kitchen. When I think about Christmas, those are the times I remember.
“In Grandma’s Kitchen”
my favorite but I love those
Hearts and diamonds, much better
© Carol Wilcox, 2015
Still messing around an hour later…
"Christmas Toys"
I'll pass on mincement
but those tiny fluted pans
are captivating.
(C) Carol Wilcox, 2015
