Last year, I had a little existential crisis about whether or not I should make my annual gingerbread house when it was . . . just me. Ultimately, I did it. It was a struggle to get started, but in the end it made me happy.
In fact, it was cathartic. Gingerbread house as metaphor for life. Things change. Kids grow up and move away. Mothers get sick and leave us. We need to find ways to carry on. Bake it. Build it. Slap on some frosting and sweeten things up. Breathe.
And the next year (which is now this year)?
Why . . . you do it again!
Because when it comes right down to it, my trusty Pampered Chef gingerbread mold has holiday memories and stories and family love baked right into its every crevice. It's time for me to release all that . . . stuff . . . again.
I discovered last year that baking, building, and decorating . . . just one . . . gingerbread house was a perfect way to welcome the "ghosts of Christmases past" into my heart for the holiday season.
So last night I baked the pieces. And sometime over the next few days (when there is a lull in the action), I'm looking forward to putting them together and decorating my house.
And I'm fine with that!
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