It's a rotten day. To explain would be to relive and to relive would make me miserable. It's just one of those days. Ironically, all the troublesome events of my day occur while making World Peace Cookies. I shape them into logs and wrap them in plastic. They relax in the fridge for three hours - I sulk. I want to drive fast and listen to loud music.
At the gas station, I reply to a cheerful "how are you?" with a sullen, "good." He hands me a sesame cookie with my receipt. I want to be much angrier than I am. I drive to the top of Rocky Butte before heading off again to my original destination.
I walk into Dorene's kitchen to hear the tail end of Happy Birthday sung over the telephone. I'm not ready for a Bible study, but that's why I'm here.
I was asked to come with something to say, but I have nothing besides a bad attitude and World Peace Cookies. [I slice them as admirers look on. They come out of the oven just as they should: warm, salty, melting, sweet. My cookies are adored (Holly asks for the recipe).]
My eyes are salty, my heart is melting, my soul is warm, my friendships sweet. The High Priest was Himself sacrificed, His blood sprinkled at the temple!
I apologize when I return home.
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1 comment:
Aw. Yes. Those cookies were phenomenal.
And you have such a quaint and delightful way of writing, Abalicious.
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