> >"As a wedding gift, we got a roller-cookie-cutter, which makes cookies that
are
>>a bit smaller than we are used to, but oh, the convenience! We alternated that
>>with our 'standard' cookie-cutters, which consist of a teddy-bear and a Santa.
>>(We should really get some more--I like outre cookie-cutters.)
>
>>"They're cooked perfectly--not burned or anything. Yum. Tomorrow we
shall ice
>>some of them, which I've never seen done before, but Nicole has...
>"Hmm," murmurs Jilara. "Which reminds me, it's time for my
>Christmas batch of gingerbread. I have some of the most outre
>cookie-cutters around. (Nothing quite so outre as the
>gingerbread coffins we did for a "Puritan Thanksgiving" party,
>once--with icing that said "REPENT!") My personal favorites
>are the man-in-the-moon and the flying pig. Maybe I'll bring
>some gingerbread to Colleen's on Wednesday, for you
>Callahanians who show up there...
>"In the meantime, I'll just have to whip up a virtual
>batch..."
--
> Jilara [jane@swdc.stratus.com]
Gypsy looks up. Ooh, I love custom cookie cutters. We have
a mermaid, a satyr, a neolithic Goddess, a cat (or maybe two),
stars in different sizes... Oh lots of wonderful things. Russell
is busy making candy cane cookies (twisted, colors sugar
cookies) to give the neighbors. He steadfastly refuses to give
them little Goddesses and Pen (the plural of Pan right? I
once made an entire batch of gingerbread Pen. <grin>)
I love gingerbread. I hope I get a chance to try Jilara's in RS.
She should get a chance to try mine at Hogmanay as I am
planning sheet gingerbread for my birthday cake. (Its my
party I can eat what I want to, eat what I want to. Haggis, yum.)
Hmmm, the mailer has been down all day and Gypsy is obviously
feeling punchy. Better post this silly thing and go to Solstice circle.
Brightest blessings of the season to ALL of you. Tra la, tra la la.
Rowan (Gypsy Woman)
Rowan Fairgrove
*****************************************
The wheel of the year is turning now. The season of darkness stretches before us like a great and sunless sea. Listen: the stag bells, the summer has gone. Winter winds blow wet and cold, the sun is low, short its course, the sea running high. Deep red the bracken, its shape lost; the little wren finds no shelter for her nest; the wild goose has raises its familiar cry.
