sarahcentric

I’m winning the cookie contest with a recipe I’ve created, the likes of which the world has never seen. Chocolate will be shed on this day!
My brother, text message.

No doubt when Ken Burns makes the documentary about this first Jackson Christmas Cookie-off, my brother’s text will be read by Donald Sutherland over a creepy violin playing “Greensleeves” in the background.

I am so dead.

I have yet to find a cookie recipe that will melt my family’s minds. Three more gifts need to be purchased, one of which I have to buy within the hour. Laundry has to be dropped off. Dry cleaning needs to be picked up. Eyebrows need to be waxed. Bags need to be packed.

Ughh, the packing…the packing! Not only do I need to pack one extra layer of warm clothing for the houses upstate which everyone insists are warm enough, when in actuality it feels like that blizzard episode of “Little House on the Prarie”. There needs to be a second layer of warmth for a 5 day meditation retreat at a Buddhist monastery. I start right after Christmas and end on New Year’s Day. Based on last year’s experience, I know that my fuzzy monkey socks do not cut it when you’re waking up with the monks and nuns at 5 am. Much skillful and mindful packing is required, and it’s all gotta come home with me on awful, horrible New York City public transit.

The dreamy, lengthy, destined to be made into a Rankin-Bass cartoon that I thought my “Christmas in Queens” post would be…well, WON’T be. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you all and want you to have the best holiday. If you lived in Queens this is how we would do it; you would be in your apartment freaking out and packing and your doorbell would buzz, if it still works that is. You would let me in and I would climb the 4 fights of stairs to your front door. I might have some cookies for you, but honestly I probably ate them and just got you a bottle of booze instead. I would give you a big hug, kiss and the booze, “I gotta go, the cab is waiting for me. But have fun! Just have fun, don’t stress at all! We’ll talk soon, but I’ll see you next year! God, I hate that stupid joke. It should be banned.”

That’s how we do it in Queens.