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I’m not very good at this,” I stopped myself from finishing my sentence. It was Christmas time, a time for happiness. This was not the time to think about my poor upbringing or lack of sweet childhood memories. I can’t honestly say we never baked, just that I don’t remember it.
“These are all easy recipes so we can make a lot.” Gia reassured and so my roommate and I baked and chatted all afternoon. I can still see her in the apron her mother gave her, flour on her cheek. I can hear the clatter of a tin lid hitting the floor.
Somehow my lack of skills did not damage the cookies. My first baking experience became a tradition for the too few years we were roommates. I’ve tried baking since then but I’m still not that good at it. My daughter learned to bake at her grandma’s and we’ve baked a couple of batches of cookies but nothing like that first batch with Gia.
Gia and I had become roommates a few years earlier. She answered an ad I put on the church bulletin board. We shared a two-bedroom apartment. Then I got married and moved out but stayed in the same apartment complex.
Not to toot my own horn but Gia had trouble with her next roommate. So after much discussion my husband and Gia and I decided to share a house. The kitchen was nice sized. Big enough to do lots of baking and that is where my mind took this picture.
Was it the time of year? Was it the bond we have as sisters in Christ? Was it that she took me in when I needed strong Christian influence? I’m not sure what it is that brings this memory forth this time of year.
I only know the memory lingers and flows through my mind like chocolate chip cookies baking on a cold winter day. I guard the memory by thinking about it periodically and then filing it away like one of grandma’s recipe cards. This memory is treated with special care because it was given to me by someone special—not just a roommate but a friend. A friend called Gia.
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