The majority of my cookie cutters are made of tin or plastic and fall within the .79 to 1.29 price range. I love me a good cookie cutter sale.

But then every once in a while a cookie girl has to pull out the folding money, put her money on the table, and buy herself some shiny heavy beautiful copper cookie cutters.

That’s what I’m talking about! I don’t know how many copper cookie cutters I have either but odds are it’s enough that Jamie and Eric had a night out on the town when they saw me coming and it’s about time the Braman’s add me to their Christmas card address list. I’m just saying.

Every time I buy a copper cutter I do so knowing it’s going to be a family heirloom I get to pass along to my great nieces. It makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside to think that one day each of them will have a small box filled with shiny copper shapes and the stories that go along with them.

But I should probably be honest with you because most of the time my copper cutters look less like that (look up) and more like this (look down):

In a perfect world where unicorns with rainbow manes galloped through fields of wildflowers, every time I used a copper cutter I’d wash it by hand in warm soapy water and gently towel it dry until it glistened like a golden sunset. Instead, in my non-unicorn existent world of reality what ends up happening is that by the time I finish measuring the ingredients, making the dough, and rolling and cutting and baking the cookies, the very last thing I have the energy to do is give my copper cookie cutters the TLC to which they are rightfully due. Instead I throw them in the dishwasher with the mixing bowl, beater blade, measuring cups and utensils, push “regular cycle” before I drop on the couch. Unfortunately, such neglect ends up taking its toil until my future heirlooms look like a hot mess.

But nothing has been done that can’t be undone.

All it takes is a bowl of warm water, a soft kitchen towel and the world’s all-purpose miracle home cleanser, Bar Keepers Friend. We love that stuff in our house. It’s like the duct tape of cleansers.

So here’s what you do. Put about 10 shakes of Bar Keepers Friend into the water and stir.

Drop a tarnished, water-spotty copper cookie cutter into the water and move it around in the water for about 20 seconds.

Remove the cutter from the bowl and rinse under warm water before drying with a soft towel.
Did you get all that? Here. Let me take you through it one more time.

1 ) Take one nasty messy copper cookie cutter.

2) Set it in a mixture of Bar Keepers Friend and warm water. Count to 20. Or 15 if you have places to go, things to do, and people to see.

3. Remove, rinse, dry.
And then party like its 2012 because it is. Unless you’re reading this a year from now and then party accordingly.

The entire transformation takes a dimes worth of Bar Keepers Friend, a few seconds, and no elbow grease.

Ah….how pretty. Me so happy.

Irrational fear? I wonder.

When I shared my concern with my local UPS MailBox Store they gave me two tips. The first is never, for any reason mark a box with a big red FRAGILE. Apparently, it’s like a beacon to a disgruntled employee having a bad hair day. The second tip was I should never wrap a box in a way that I wouldn’t feel comfortable dropping from shoulder height because even under the very best circumstances that package is going to hit the UPS hub and if it’s not tossed (it will be) it’s going to be slid, stacked, and dropped.

So with all that in mind this is how I package cookies for shipping:

I heat seal every cookie individually and then place two similar cookies back to back to double the thickness and strength.

I take two sets of stacked cookies and place them side by side,  wrapping them up in a single sheet of bubble wrap.

I leave a little space between the two stacks to avoid the cookies bumping into one another in transit, and I don’t fold over the ends so that the bundles lay flat in the box.

Now it’s time to begin adding the bundles to a box that’s already lined with two sheets of large bubble wrap and tipped on it’s side. I stack the cookies this way so that when the label side of the box is up, the cookies will be standing side by side rather than stacked on top of one another.

Placing the cookies are their side prevents weight-bearing stress being put on cookies that would be at the bottom of the stack were the cookies placed in the box laying down.

With all the cookies in place and the box flipped so that the bottom of the box is on the table surface, I place a couple additional sheets of bubble wrap on top and then I would typically fill up the empty space remaining with packing peanuts or balled tissue paper to prevent the cookies from shifting around in the box during shipping.

However, many cookies include an oversized personalized cookie and surprisingly the oversized cookies can be the most fragile and so they require a little sum-thun sum-thun special.

For any cookies that are particularly important to the order, such as a personalized plaque cookie, I’ll take the heat-sealed cookie, place it on a trimmed cardboard cake board and then snugly secure the cookie to the board using plastic wrap.

Now I place the special cookie in the box, placing a couple more sheets of bubble wrap over the top.

Before sealing the box I fold over the four ends of large bubblewrap that was lining the box and drop in a few Sweet Hope Cookie cards and stickers along with several ALS Awareness Bracelets and then tape the box closed.

But it’s not ready yet.

Because this box . . .

. . . goes inside another box.

And a large order requires a couple boxes filled with cookies and a box that can hold them both with a couple inches left on all six sides to allow for cushioning with bubblewrap, packing peanuts or whatever recycled packing materials I’ve been collecting and accumulating in the garage.

Did you know some people park their cars in their garage? I know. Weird concept.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. Our car still fits in the garage.
Opening the car door wide enough to shimmy out of the car is a whole other story.

I wrap each box in bubble wrap, stack them in the box, secure them into the center of the box with filler and tape it closed.

And there you go. A box of cookies protected enough to withstand being hurled, tossed, dropped, flung, chucked, thrown and catapulted.
At least so far, so good.

Last Minute Surprise Tip!

We have a small neighborhood recycle drop station that accepts only paper and glass and yesterday I stopped by to drop off some broken down boxes rather than playing human trash compacter by jumping up and down inside our home recycle can, an almost weekly event much to the enjoyment of neighbors. When I arrived at the recycle center I saw that a couple of the recycle boxes overflowing with crumpled white newspaper print and some flat boxes. It was all clean and if any of it had been used it could have only been once and possibly by a little old lady from Pasadena. So yes, I left with my car overflowing with more than I had dropped off but with brand new boxes costing between 2.50 and 4.00 each (and that’s bundle prices) this was like cardboard manna! So, all I’m saying is you might want to consider checking for a local recycle center. It’s not like I’m suggesting you go to the city dump!

But for now here’s what’s been happening around here on the cookie table (formerly known as our dining room table.)

This set was for a new mommy and daddy whose baby girl came into the world fighting to be here and I’m happy to say the punkin turned out to be a champ!

Speaking of kids (as I often do) my dear friend Klarissa is being recognized with a Ms Foundation Gloria Award on this very day for her work as the Executive Director of Oaasis. I couldn’t possibly more proud of Klarissa and the important work she’s doing with such passion and heart. Anyway, these cookies were done as a thank you gift for the Ms. Foundation and a generous grant given to support the work of Oaasis.

Congratulations Sweet Klarissa!

This set included a few first-evers for me. It was my first chance to use Karen’s exclusive new boy and girl cookie cutters. It was the first batch of vanilla bean – almond cookies made with LilaLoa’s Vanilla Variation cookie recipe. And finally . . .

. . .it was my first time to put cookie candy on the edge of a cookie.
Thumbs up to all three first-times!

I had some fun with these Red Hat Society cookies . . .

And loved making these for my church on Palm Sunday.

I made some monsters for my main cookie man Anthony.

And some Thomas the Train and Friends for Nicolas.

Then it was on to a couple birthday sets. A golf set for Dan . . .

. . . and riding cookies for Dana.

I also had the chance to use a couple great tutorials by Sugarbelle. The first was a variation of her adorable ladybugs.
I’ve had a number of comments of how people like the addition of the big dots covered in black non-pareils which is another one of those happy accidents since the only reason I added them was to cover up any craters that might have turned up while the black dots of glaze were drying.

And then another tip of the hat to the Cookie Queen of Texas for her Yellow Angry Bird tutorial. I didn’t have a large candy kiss cookie cutter that Callye recommended so I used a candy corn cutter and did a little squishing before baking.

Then there were the surfboards for my brother-in-law John.

And cookies for a rock star baker. In-tim-i-dat-ing!

And this last week I finished up two special orders. The first is for my sweet, adorable, punkin of a great niece Rosie who for her second birthday requested Hello Kitty and her frog buddy Keroppi.

And these were for an upcoming event for the ALS Association in Oregon. This was my first time to pull my new airbrush from out of the box and aside from hooking it up wrong, having it fall apart in the middle of a cookie, and coloring my hands a deep blue it turned out okay.

And last, but oh not so least, is an order of cookies I was honored to do for a serviceman that reflects his love for the various areas of service in which he’s served as well as for his interests outside the military.

]]> http://www.sweethopecookies.com/another-cookie-update/feed/ 5 http://www.sweethopecookies.com/cookie-test-kitchen-freezing-glaze-decorated-cookies/ http://www.sweethopecookies.com/cookie-test-kitchen-freezing-glaze-decorated-cookies/#comments Sun, 13 May 2012 19:52:17 +0000 anita http://www.sweethopecookies.com/?p=891 I freeze unbaked cookie dough as a regular practice. As I type there are 3 dozen raw bubblebees, 2 dozen angry birds, and a few sheets of rolled dough stockpiled in my freezer for this week's cookies. When it comes time to bake I take them out of... Read more

We did a do over in 2004 for their 60th.

The changes in the 5 years between the two photographs are hard to miss, if only in the number of little ones showing up on the scene, but since the portrait taken in 2004, the changes have been enormous. An end to one relationship, a beginning of another, a few marriages, a bounty of babies, and our mom and dad at the center, (figuratively and literally), along with Randy, gone. Life never stays the same even when you wish it would just slow down long enough for you to catch your breath.

I love my family. Everyone of them. The ones born into the family and the ones brought into the family. Even if these people weren’t my flesh and blood, I’m fairly sure I’d be rather fond of them.  And the children, for those taking notes, are the best. No doubt you have wonderful children, grandchildren and/or nieces and nephews but on my cookie blog, in my corner of the universe, the children in my family reign supreme.

And so when I look at this crowd of old and young, more young than old from the seat where I now sit, I see my family. People I love. But behind these photos full of so many faces, are the pictures and memories of my family long ago when there were six of us.
Mom. Dad. Carl. Randy. Barbara. And me.

These are the five people I’ve known all my life.

These are the five people in all the world who lived in the house I grew up in and whose memories are a shared part of mine.

I love my entire family, every single one of them.

But these five people are the ones most dear and close and precious to me.

And as I knew would happen, one day Mom and Dad passed away, and there were four.

We  always knew the day would come when there would be the four of us, but I can’t imagine any of us ever gave much thought to the death of one of our own. The way it’s suppose to happen, apparently in a perfect world in which I do not live, is that after your parents are gone you spend years growing old along side your brothers and sisters, reminiscing over half-forgotten but cherished recollections that then become the ancient stories of another generation to the young. But that’s not how it unfolded for us when on the day we buried our mom, one of us had a body already under the attack of ALS and so we knew our time as four would be short-lived.  As it turned out, it was much shorter than we imagined even when we were imagining the worst.

My grief in Randy’s death has been no greater than the grief carried by my brother and my sister. Randy was my brother, his brother, and her brother. We all saw Randy through our eyes, connected with him in our own way, and loved him with all our hearts.

And then there were three.

I need to say something because it needs to be said. In many ways Randy and I were very much alike but we’re exact opposites when it comes to doing some small thing to try and make a difference in the world or help another human being. My way usually ends up being out in front of people.  Sweet Hope Cookies for one. These 13 days of Remembering Randy for another. I’m just not by nature a person who typically works behind the scenes but that’s exactly who Randy was. He was always doing and helping and caring for others in ways that only he and that one person ever knew about. He did that all that the time. I know because he did it with me in ways that ultimately and without dramatic elaboration, saved my life.

But just because I’m out in front doesn’t mean that ALS or Randy’s death has impacted my life more than my siblings. It doesn’t mean that I’m feeling more or doing more. It only means I’m doing it my way and this is where my brother and my sister are far more like Randy than I will ever be.

When I was first starting to bake cookies in my kitchen, my brother Carl was managing our family dairy and at the same time being a supportive presence for Randy and our entire family. Always checking in and always stepping up when there was something that needed to be done. No fanfare. No grand scene. Like all those Thanksgivings when Carl would be up to his elbows in dish soap washing the dishes while the rest of the family was leisurely reached for another slice of pumpkin pie around the dining room table. Carl saw something Randy needed and without drawing attention to himself he made sure it was done because he loved his brother.

And as the number of “likes” were increasing day by day on my Sweet Hope Facebook page, my sister was helping care for my brother’s daily needs. When he was uncomfortable she looked for a way to bring him comfort. With her husband she’d drive all over town searching for something that could be bought or constructed to help Randy move more independently from his chair to his bed, or to hold his weakening legs in place in his wheelchair.  For months I watched my sister put most everything aside in her own life to do whatever she could to help support Randy because she loved her brother.

And while I’m baking cookies to support those living with ALS and my brother Carl is saying yes to suppose those living with ALS through the resources of our family dairy, my sister continues month in and month out to not only attend the local ALS support group but to stay intimately involved in people’s lives within that group because like Randy she loves and cares for them personally. They are her friends and she loves them, and that has Randy written all over it.

And now there are three of us.
Except I still have one sister and two brothers.
I always will because love remains.

Bopa to Braxy, his wife’s grandson. Uncle Randy to two generations of nieces and nephews.
The children all loved Randy and he cherished each of them.

Wyatt and Payton and Landyn. These are the children born since Randy died, and along with the incredible joy over each child’s birth, there’s also incredible sadness in knowing that because of ALS Randy never had the chance to meet these new little ones and they never had the chance to meet him. He would have loved to have held them, talked to them and giggled with them. They would have loved to have his full and undivided attention and see his eyes light up with joy each time they entered the room.

  They may not have their own memories of Randy or their own stories to tell, but they’ll have ours, and hopefully, if we tell them enough one day our stories will be theirs too.

Silly Wyatt.
Handsome Landyn.
Sweet Payton.

Randy would have adored you.

Everyone, this is DeeAnn. DeeAnn, this is everyone.

I phoned DeeAnn yesterday to ask if I could write about her today and she said, as I now quote so that it remains a permanent part of the official record, “Write whatever you want. I trust you.” [Insert diabolical laugh here]

So with her permission and trust, it seemed impossible to remember Randy in this way that I’m doing without including his beloved DeeAnn.

Like my parents, minus the trumpet and saxophone, Randy and DeeAnn had known each other since they were young people in our home church but they weren’t married until the Spring of 2007.

During all those years between their meeting and their marrying there’s a good story to tell and were I to tell it I’d have you right here (pointing to the palm of my hand),  but the story doesn’t belong to me so it’s not mine to tell. All I’ll say is that it’s the kind of story they make movies about and that somewhere in the dialog of that movie you’d hear the word miracle. More than once.

Without presuming to speak for DeeAnn or pretending to speak for my brother about their story, what I can tell you as Randy’s sister is that the very best thing that ever happened to my brother in his life was DeeAnn. When I thank God for Randy and DeeAnn’s relationship, I give thanks my brother didn’t have to face the last months of his life alone but that DeeAnn was there beside him every step of the way. She couldn’t stop what ALS was doing to Randy but in a hundred big and small ways she made the difficult journey more gentle for him. She gave him comfort, she gave him hope, she gave him joy. She guarded his dignity and showed him honor and respect. And she made him laugh through days that had little comedic value of their own.

But it’s not only that DeeAnn was there to love and care for Randy at the end of his life but even more so that in his life he had five full years of being as tenderly loved as he was by DeeAnn. No sister could ask more for her brother than that.

And my brother loved DeeAnn.

You could see it in his eyes.

He wore it on his sleeve.

A little more than two months before he died, I traveled up to stay with Randy and DeeAnn for one of my regular visits. It was Valentine’s Day.  I had barely brought my suitcase into the house when Randy asked if I’d go get chocolates and a card he could give to DeeAnn. He was excited with his planned surprise as he gave me directions to the only chocolate store that would do and on selecting the very chocolates he wanted to give her. It was so important that it be right and that it be from him. As I drove off in search of the one and only store with the one and only chocolates good enough for his wife I wept because my brother was dying but in dying he had someone in his life he loved so much. I found the store and pointed to the chocolates that I thought would please him the most because they would please her the most. I chose four cards from the store rack so he could choose one card from among them for her, and then I drove back to my brother who looked over it all satisfied before turning his wheelchair toward the direction of the bedroom to find a hiding place for the box of chocolates and card. He loved Dee Ann so much. And everyone who knows her and knew him, knows why.

Randy was Mom’s favorite child. She would have denied it since admitting even the smallest twinge of partiality toward one of your children is like a parental adaption of The Fight Club; the first rule of having a favorite child is you do not talk about having a favorite child. But if you’re a mom, you’re not kidding anyone. We the sons and daughters of the world know. You’re human. You’re allowed.

I’m not saying Mom loved Randy more than she loved her other three children. Mom would have thrown herself into a cage of wild gorillas to save any one of us but there was a special warmth in her eyes when she was talking about or to Randy that you would have been hard pressed to see at any other time. And sure, I’ll admit I wouldn’t have completely hated being Mom’s favorite since, after all, as far as moms go, she was my favorite, but while I was among the top four in contention, it was Randy at the tape.

And it was completely ooooo-kay. In fact it was more than that, because while all four of us kids drew even closer to Mom in the last years of her life, the special bond that grew between Randy and Mom, how he cared for her so attentively and how she relied on him so completely was nothing short of six degrees of endearing.

If you’re looking to become a favored child, take note of this example. Sons and daughters everywhere, listen and learn.

Our mom and dad went to the same church every Sunday morning since forever. Forever being since they met 60 years earlier while playing beside each other in the church band. Dad was on the trumpet with Mom on the saxophone. Needless to say they didn’t talk much during band practice.

Over the years they raised their family in the church. Dad served on the church council, Mom led the women’s group, and together they taught the college class for a number of years. Among the people at church were to be found all their nearest and dearest friends. In 2004 Dad’s memorial service was held there.

And then Mom was left to go to their church alone. But she seldom did. Go alone, I mean.

Enter Randy.

For the next five years until her own death, Mom got a wake-up call every Sunday morning at precisely 9:00 a.m. from Randy. Every Sunday morning. Even if he was out of town. Even if I in town and fully capable of shouting a cheerful “Good Morning Sunshine!” in the general direction of the blanketed lump in her bed. Rnady called every Sunday morning. Some mornings his wake-up call would actually function as a wake up! call and other mornings Mom would already be awake and just laying in bed waiting for her son to call.

Later in the morning, Randy and his wife DeeAnn would drive to Mom’s house and wait patiently while she did that last minute puttering around the house ritual elderly people and yes, I’m now at the age where I’m given to fits of dawdling, also known as early-stage puttering.  Once secured in the car they’d take Mom to church sitting beside her in the same section of the sanctuary where she and Dad had sat hand in hand year after year, and  finally, they’d take Mom to lunch so she could spend time over a meal with a few church friends before returning her home.

Over the past few days I’ve told what a good brother Randy was but today I wanted you to know he was a good son too.

]]> http://www.sweethopecookies.com/remembering-randy-day-nine/feed/ 8 http://www.sweethopecookies.com/remembering-randy-day-eight/ http://www.sweethopecookies.com/remembering-randy-day-eight/#comments Thu, 26 Apr 2012 07:00:26 +0000 anita http://www.sweethopecookies.com/?p=981 Mom told me more than once that it was bad etiquette to phone someone before 9:00 a.m. or after 9:00 p.m., but Emily Post wasn't exactly the first on my mind when I called Randy one night just after midnight and said, "I need to talk to you right... Read more

Mom told me more than once that it was bad etiquette to phone someone before 9:00 a.m. or after 9:00 p.m., but Emily Post wasn’t exactly the first on my mind when I called Randy one night just after midnight and said, “I need to talk to you right away. Can I come over?”

I’d known I was gay for about six months but so far I hadn’t said it out loud to anyone else. I knew this was not the news that anybody in my life would want to hear and the longer I sat with the secret the more I convinced myself I could never open my mouth and say the words because if I did I’d lose everything and everyone. Church, family, friends, respect, trust, love.

But the time had come when I couldn’t keep the secret any longer and so the only person on the earth and in my world who I could think to go to was Randy. At midnight. I’m not sure why midnight other than I might have hoped he’d be so tired that when I said, “I’m gay” he’d misunderstand me. “Sis, I personally like the name Anita but if you want to be called May that’s fine with me. Now can I go back to bed?”

But as it happened he was more than wide awake. Before I even had a chance to knock Randy opened the front door and with worry all over his face asked, “What’s going on?” I walked past him into the house, stood in the middle of his living and proceeded to spilled my guts. No chance to volley a little small talk back and forth or take 20 seconds to settle down into a comfy chair. It wasn’t Ellen standing in the airport and accidentally announcing it over the PA. It was even more awkward and messy than that. I can’t remember hearing my own voice or what words came out of my mouth though I’m fairly convinced the room might have been spinning in circles. Counter-clockwise. And really really fast.

I don’t know what I expected in the way of a reaction from Randy. I’d probably ruled out the gnashing of teeth, or the putting on of sackcloth and ashes, though I three-quarter expected that would come from others soon enough. At the time I probably didn’t allow myself to have any expectations of Randy because I couldn’t have stood being disappointed. But he didn’t disappoint me. Instead, he paused for three beats, and as his face melted of worry he held out one hand and said  “Come here.” I did. And then he hugged me, told me he loved me, told me he would always love me, told me we were brother and sister and nothing would ever change any of that, told me all he wanted for me was to be happy, and told me he’d do whatever he could to help.

I’m not sure if this happened in 1994 or 1995 and I don’t remember the time of year. Fall maybe. Possibly Spring. But I know it was past midnight. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt this was the heart of the message he spoke to me. I remember so certainly because every word he spoke was like another breath of fresh air breaking into a closed room where there’s been nothing to breathe but hot stagnant air for days without end. I know this is dramatic but I can’t help but say it. Just past midnight, whatever the year, whatever the season, Randy gave me words that helped me breathe again.

Now that’s not to say Randy didn’t have questions or concerns or that he didn’t look puzzled at me because “You’ve got to understand Sis, I just don’t get it…the uh….whole gay thing, I mean.”  We eventually sat down and by that I mean he sat and I crumpled, and then for a while we went back and forth discussing the when, where, why and how of it all but before he asked a single question or raised a troubled brow he helped me breathe again.

In his life I thanked him a thousand times over for that as I’m thanking him still.

This would be a great place to end this post except there’s just a little more of the story to tell.

A few years later I met a girl who had me at Hello.

One day I asked her to please oh please let me spend the rest of my life loving you. And she said yes.

And then I asked my brother if he would please oh please walk me down the aisle at our wedding. And he said yes.

And when he held out his arm and walked me down the aisle on my wedding day
he said something to me that I’m keeping just for me.
But every time I remember his words, I breathe a little deeper still.

 

 

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