Recently, Steve and I were making gingerbread cookies for Ludington’s Downtown Cookie Walk and I could only find one cookie sheet. Everyone knows you need two cookie sheets in order to make cookies in the most efficient way possible. While one sheet is in the oven, you can load up the second sheet so it’s ready to go in soon as the first one is done.
I knew we had a second cookie sheet somewhere and could picture it in my head. I dimly recalled making something with it (apple slices? nachos?) between the time we’d moved into this house and now. That ruled out the storage unit but left open the possibility it was lurking somewhere in the house or the garage.
Steve and I were methodical in our search for it. We took turns getting down on our hands and knees to look in the very backs of all the bottom cupboards (nope), and then we tried the tops of all the shelves (nada), the gaps between all the appliances (zilch), and then the cupboard over the fridge, which necessitated first clearing off all the stuff on top of it in order to get the doors open (which also explains why the cupboard turned out to be completely empty—why bother to put anything in there when it’s easier to pile it in front?—whereupon I immediately nominated that space for storing liquor, which still needs to find a designated forever home after the move, but Steve said it’d be a pain in the patootie for any future drunks looking for a quick shot, so it’s still empty, in case you were wondering.)
This is a problem with moving into a new house. The place where you first put things usually ends up being the place where you always put things, no matter how inconvenient it may turn out to be later. Like cookie sheets, for instance.
This morning I found it behind the fridge, and I know it was me who put it there, because I remember thinking it was a good idea at the time. It’s a narrow, vertical space, and cookie sheets definitely fit there, but it’s also much, much closer to dog fur, of which we have a plethora, and which now covered it, front and back.
What was I thinking?
The answer is that I wasn’t thinking at all, or I wasn’t thinking very hard, or possibly I was distracted by the next thing on my list, which in no way involved making a once and for all decision about where it would be best to store flat items that only get used once a month, if ever.
The upshot is that it took longer than it should have to bake a hundred cookies, not least because we spent some of that time in a fruitless search for a cookie sheet.
But we had fun looking, which is the most important thing. And it made a memory, which would never have happened if the cookie sheets had both been in the same place at the same time. Have you ever noticed that it’s the things you’re not expecting that last the longest time in your head?
As for the cookies, we iced them to look like reindeer skeletons with red noses and then called them “Rudolphs, Deconstructed” for the Cookie Walk. They were both creepy and delicious. A nice balance, I think.