The next time someone dares to say to me, "You look great, are you sure there is anything wrong with your brain?", I will probably lose it. Hopefully, though, I will remain calm enough to invite them over to my house to bake some cookies with me.
Someone whom I love deeply was in a crisis situation last week. It was mentioned that she only wants to eat ice cream. My response? A very quick "So get out the ice cream and dish it up!" Then I asked if she would like some cookies to go with their ice cream? Of course the answer was a huge "Yes!".
I learned to bake at a very early age, sitting on a step stool next to Grandma's kitchen counter. Once I started, I never stopped. I would bake all kinds of desserts and there was always a homemade treat for my dad's lunchbox. When my sister moved to the dorm for nursing school, every weekend she returned with homemade cinnamon rolls, cookies or homemade donuts. That was way too many years ago. Let's just say it was well over 40 years ago.
When our daughter was born, I took cake decorating classes so I could make her awesome birthday cakes. I have even made a few wedding cakes. Not many though, it is way too stressful because it has to be perfect to please the bride and all the guests. When she was three or four years old, I started baking Christmas cookies with my cousin who had boys the same age. The kids could play and we could bake. Between the recipes I had and the recipes she had, it turned into a big thing. These weren't chocolate chip cookies, these were very special cookies and some required some skill (and lots and lots of butter)!
Eventually, we moved across the state but I kept on baking. More and more people discovered my cookies and demanded a cookie tray at Christmas. At one point, I was making more than 100 dozens of cookies each Christmas season.
So why I am I telling you about this? Am I trying to brag about my baking skills" No, not at all. Even after the onset of FTD, I kept on baking. I didn't make all the kinds every year. I made the absolute must-haves and then would choose a few more and then choose different ones for the next year. I was probably down to around 75 dozen. The past couple years I have struggled, but then my therapist suggested making a copy of the recipe and checking things off as I went. Perfect idea! It still took me more days of baking, but I was so proud of myself last year when I got them done.
So, these are the kind of cookies I am talking about sending. Yesterday, I picked out 3 types to make. I made it through the first two, saving the "easiest" until last. This was a basic roll-out sugar cookie that I would cut into pumpkins and ice orange for the Halloween season. I have been using this recipe for 50 years, so no sweat. Yeah, right!
I made up the dough and for some reason, it just didn't look right, so I tasted it. No sugar! It doesn't work to add the sugar in at the end, so I threw out the dough and made another batch. At the end, this dough was too crumbly. I measured the amount of dough and realized I had used a cup too much of flour. No way to fix that after all the other ingredients were mixed in, so that also went in the trash. After asking my husband to run to the store for another dozen eggs, I made the third batch. Third time's a charm right? At the end, I tasted the dough and realized I had left out half of the sugar.
I gave up! I threw in the rest of the sugar and mixed it in. The cookies ended up a different consistency, but are edible. I figured if I put a little extra orange icing on, no one would be the wiser! Today, I made a fourth kind to make up for the disaster cookies and will box them up and mail them all tomorrow. If I had not tried to make three kinds in one day, I probably would have been fine. Except for 2 dozen that are on the very well done side, the others came out perfectly. I will keep those home and can be very proud of the finished lot that I will send.
The problem is, I am feeling broken hearted! After I was done baking yesterday, it hit me that my days of Christmas cookie baking are about done. If we would move closer to my daughter, she would help me, but she is the only one I could allow to help me. Anyone else in my kitchen would make the situation worse. So I cried and felt sorry for myself last evening and all night long. I didn't sleep much and am feeling quite dejected today. I know I will work something out. I will only make the easier ones this coming Christmas season and that will have to do. That isn't the issue though. The issue is that it will become worse and worse. Following a recipe is so difficult for me. Remembering all the ingredients and what order to do things is even more difficult. Most of my recipes are just lists of ingredients because I knew the rest and believed I would never forget how to make them. I have typed out all the recipes, including directions, to pass on to my daughter. I decided I had to do that before I totally forgot.
How dare this horrid disease steal something so important to me? How dare this disease make me spend so much more time in the kitchen because I have to be so cautious to not fall or drop things, not to mention burning myself. It has already stolen so many abilities from me that there aren't very many pleasurable things left for me to do. Now it has taken this. I really, really hate this disease! FTD sucks!!!
So, to all my acquaintances, beware what you say to me. You can tell me I look nice today, don't tell me how "good" I look and infer that there is nothing wrong with me. I may pull out a cookie sheet and fight back!
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