121802Removed until further notice 121102My wrist hurt from stirring too much. I glanced into the gigantic metal pot situated on the middle burner. The marshmallows still weren�t melting. I sighed to myself. I never knew making Christmas cookies was this hard. I looked at my still-moving wrist, thinking if I stared down the problem spot, the pain would get intimidated and go away. No such luck. I did, however, notice the motion my whole arm was making. "Well, at least it�s good practice," I thought to myself, chuckling at my own inappropriateness. I put down the oversized wooden spoon and grabbed the bottle of green food coloring. 3 teaspoons, noted the recipe. "1...2...3," I counted out loud. Not soon after, my hand was on the spoon, stirring yet again. I watched as the once-white goop suddenly became alive in a swirl of green. I observed the two substances dance together, until the more potent food coloring took over, turning the entire pot of melted marshmallow-buttery goodness into a sea of emerald. I was looking into a pot of puke, I soon noticed. My laughter filled the empty kitchen, echoing off the granite countertops. I grabbed the box of Corn Flakes, shaking it to hear what I define as The Sound of Breakfast. I opened the plastic bag and, with the 1 cup measuring device in hand, began to scoop. Crunch, crunch, crunch, was the only sound I heard. I wearily looked into the box, thinking I was doing more damage than good. God forbid my Corn Flakes get mashed and my cookies turn out not so wreathy after all. It would be a Christmas travesty! After enough crunching to last me into next spring, it became time. Time where normal cooking ends and creativity begins. The true test of whether or not one�s cookie-making skills are up to par. With my mom�s advice, I coated my fingers in butter and stuck my hands into the pot. Grabbing a small amount of green gunk, I pried it off my fingers and onto the wax paper. Easy enough. But by the 15th dollop of cookie, my hands resembled those of the Incredible Hulk�s. I managed to wash off the goo, but the color remained. I was stained. I looked at the small arsenal of bushes in front of me with a satisfied smile on my face. Then I remember I was making wreaths. Crud. Back into the butter my fingers went. This time, the task was more difficult than I had thought. It look a lot of patience and a lot of butter to craft each of the 41 clumps into beautiful wreaths, complete with "holly berries" of small red candies. Finally, my task was complete. I admired my work. "Heck, I�m pretty good at this," I thought to myself. There�s hope for me yet. ---- Recipe for the World�s Greatest Christmas Cookie - The Wreath
Line counter with wax paper. Melt butter and marshmallows over stove. Add vanilla and food coloring. Take off burner and add Corn Flakes, cup by cup. Drop in small balls on wax paper. Coat fingers with butter and make a hole in each to give a wreath-like appearance. Add Red Hots to look like holly berries. Let sit before eating. Enjoy! *Double the recipe if you have a lot of mouths to feed! 120402I sat in my Bible class, extremely fidgety, with nothing to do. I had successfully written my name 37 times in cursive on the top of my paper. My orange Jelly Roll pen was running low on ink. I contemplated jumping up and yelling something out like "I have gigantic balls" (a la American Pie 2), just to liven things up a bit. Instead, I glanced at the kid�s watch next to me and read 12:05. Class was over. Pushing through the crowd of half-awake students still groggy from their fifty-minute nap, I made my way to the front of the lecture hall and out the door. As I turned to leave the building through my secret exit, I glanced out the window. It looked like the U was having a ticker tape parade. Big globs floated down from above, blanketing the ground in fluffy white stuff. I couldn�t believe my eyes. It was snowing! I did a half-walk, half-run combo to get outside as quickly as possible. I pushed through the double doors and stepped into the winter wonderland. The snow was coming down in large pieces, what I commonly refer to as "movie snow." I instantly felt eight years old again. I wanted to have a snowball fight. I wanted to build a snowman. I wanted to go sledding with my brother in the backyard. Instead, I had to settle for walking back to my apartment. At the present time, that was good enough for me. I looked around at the faces passing me by. Funny, I seemed to be the only one enjoying the snow. A group of students in Columbia coats with scrunched-up faces stomped alongside me. A woman hurried by, sheltering her baby from the onslaught of Old Man Winter. I walked on, still smiling, bundled up in my J. Crew Kids hat, scarf, and mittens. When I came to the intersection of Washington and Huron, I patiently waited for the gleaming WALK sign to illuminate from the opposite side of the road. Just then, a snowflake landed on my left pair of eyelashes. As I blinked to get it off, the lyrics "snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes" popped into my head. Being in such a contented mood, I began to hum "My Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music. I glanced to my left and caught the tall shaggy-haired guy snickering under his breath. I immediately stopped and my face felt hot. I knew I was blushing. I quickly approached the foyer of University Village. Before entering the building, I took one last look around. "It is so beautiful here," I thought to myself. All the below zero temperatures, massive snowfalls, and bad road conditions aside, I really do love it here. I love turtlenecks that keep you just that much warmer. I love snowmen that are wearing clothing. I love big chunky mittens and hats with poofs on the top of them. I love waking up to the sound of a snow shovel on the driveway. I love snow. I love winter. I love Minnesota.
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