PO Box 1980

One drizzly, April morning, while listening to an AA cassette on my kitchen radio, I set about mixing butter, eggs, molasses, cinnamon, and flour to produce a couple of dozen delicious molasses cookies to bring along to my noon meeting. I beamed. This small act of love was something I'd never before had time to squeeze into my overloaded schedule. Other people did this kind of thing--home-maker types who enjoyed serene, naturally well-ordered lives, and did this kind of thing after they'd made the beds, fluffed the pillowcases, watered the plants, and mailed, well in advance, birthday cards for friends. I'd always envied those stable types. Then, one day, I just decided that I would perform this one act, just for today. I wouldn't make it part of my job description but would, just this one time, make delicious cookies on a gray and rainy Wednesday morning.