Round ball has begun. The World Series is set. Football fans (I include myself) are overdosing on the manic destruction of gridiron mayhem. Ambitious pumpkin carvers are out in full force, and the uber-organized Christmas planners are half-way through their lists.
It’s a disaster.
We have only 10 weeks to keep our New Year’s resolutions, and yesterday our friends in the English department extended an irresistible invitation to write a novel — of some 50,000 words — in November. Could I do that?
Fast work, my mother’s specialty, is one of the things I like most about Friday Cookies.
Mom could go to the yard to cut rhubarb, or pick raspberries, or strawberries, or peaches or elderberries — whatever was needed, get the bowlful washed and trimmed and turned into a pie baking in the oven in the half-hour it took us sleepy kids to move from pajamas to “ready” for church on Sunday morning.
I would give anything to be as good as that! Maybe someday. For now, I tease myself with the challenge of getting as much done as I can during the 7- or 8-minute periods when the cookies are in the oven. Sadly, losing the game — losing track of the time — is one of the reasons I end up throwing a good many burned cookies in the tall grass.
In honor of the season’s pressing assignments and the joy of trying to press value into every moment, I’ve made the slow-molasses cookies that remind me of my mom.
Come and get ’em!