For 2026, as a form of literary cleansing and letting go, I’ve decided to go back though my old, unpublished efforts and either put them to bed, rework them for submission, or post them here. The following is a story I wrote for my mom all the way back in 2007. It has no literary value whatsoever, but I tried my best to capture one of the times when I was happiest – baking cookies with my mom. Now, in this present day, when stress is destroying my body, when the world makes no sense, when I’m questioning what the point is to even try anymore, these are the memories I need to turn to. Not to get lost in, not to use to avoid reality, but to remember that the good exists everywhere, especially in simple moments that have no literary value. Thank you, mom, for inspiring it. (And for setting aside the time to let this little kid make cookies with you, even though I surely made it many times harder than it needed to be.)

Samuel

Samuel was delighted, truly delighted. This was one of his favorite things in the world. Plus, from his perch high above the kitchen floor, he felt on top of the world. While he hadn’t figured out all of the mysteries of existence yet, he did know when something was rare and to be treasured. This was one of those moments.

He did his best to sit still, but felt himself shifting about the granite, a huge smile across his face. His mother leaned over and kissed him on the head.

“One would think you don’t want to sit up here after all honey.”

“Oh no Momma, I do!”

Normally, when he would climb the stool in order to sit on the counter he would hear, “That’s for food, not your butt!” To which he responded by putting his tail between his legs and slinking away. But on days like today he knew he could let his feet dangle for the whole of eternity, and would never get yelled at.

“Alright, what should we add first?”

“The flower!”

Nodding in agreement, his mother measured out three and a half cups of flour, of which Samuel was more than happy to add to the orange and white mixing bowl. That was followed by the water, eggs, vanilla, baking soda, sugar, and food coloring, which turned everything a nice crimson.

“Are you ready to use your muscles?”

As if the enormous smile was not enough to tell by, he excitedly shook his head “Yes.” She handed him the spoon, and he was ready.

With his tongue falling precariously out of the right corner of his mouth he began to stir the ingredients. When he would switch directions with the spoon, his tongue would switch sides as well. As flour flew out the sides of the bowl, his mother stood next to the counter, herself feeling on top of the world, watching her little boy work. While she hadn’t figured out all of the mysteries of existence yet, she did know when something was rare and to be treasured.

Meanwhile, Samuel continued his assault upon the batter. His forearms were beginning to burn and his mother joked that all of this work was going to make him look like Popeye. He stopped stirring to think about this. He liked the idea of it – other than the fact that Olive Oyl was rather annoying, Popeye did seem to have it made. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t yet understand the joys of spinach, and so knew it was impossible…

“Momma! No more flower is flying out!”

“Yeah, look, it’s all mixed, good job!”

They rejoiced and celebrated by tasting the dough. It was delicious.

“Thanks Mom.”

“No, thank you, you made it.”

“No Momma, we made it.”

Twenty minutes later the cookies came out of the oven. They passed the time with a few games of checkers, both eagerly waiting for their crimson creations to cool. Just then the front door opened.

“Papa!”

With a sincere greeting Father met Samuel and Mother, but quickly skirted them once he saw the cookies, shoving one into his mouth. Owing to the fact that they had just emerged, this caused Father to dance around with his mouth open, omitting the strangest sounds Samuel had ever heard. They all laughed and ate cookies into the night.

“Goodnight sweetheart.”

“Goodnight Mom.”

END

August 15, 2007