I'm standing at
My kitchen counter
With wooden spoon
In one hand
And measuring cup
In the other,
Ready to direct
My own symphony
Of Yuletide love.
I dive in with
An immediate building
Of artistic drama:
A couple of cups
Of sugar here
And a few cups
Of flour there,
Held together
With eggs, butter,
And a half dozen of
Other tasty things,
All going into
My mother's ancient
Tupperware bowl;
After a quick staccato solo
With the noisy hand held mixer,
I hum along with
The Jim Brickman CD
Of Christmas favorites
As I roll out the dough,
Thoughts of the friends
And loved ones
Who will be receiving
This bounty of sweetness
Going into each step
As I apply the
Holiday themed cutters.
Minutes later,
There is
A crescendo of satisfaction
When the pans come out of the oven,
Their contents golden, still blank,
Ready for
The final movement,
Which comes when,
Still humming
And smiling with happy anticipation,
The festive, beribboned bakery boxes
Filled with decorated goodness
Go beneath
The twinkling tree.