The Gingerbread House
Sometimes the moments when things go awry
are when they also go right.
Unfortunately, this is not an example of our fine gingerbread creations. There weren’t any photos that weren’t fuzzy from the predigital film era.
When I was a child, my anticipation for the holiday season began on November 1st. As soon as the door closed on Halloween, my anticipation turned to my family’s holiday traditions. They didn’t start until December, but my excitement grew for the cookie baking, holiday concerts, looking at holiday lights, and decorating our home.
My parents always made the holidays magical for our family — especially my mom. She planned so many special activities throughout the season. One of my favorites was building a gingerbread house. My mom was a gingerbread architect, baking slabs from scratch and cutting them into shapes for the sides and roof of the home. These houses were big - almost the height of two shoeboxes stacked on top of each other.
The smell of cinnamon, ginger, and molasses floated around the kitchen as the pieces cooled. The mixer began whirring, whipping icing into stiff peaks to hold the home together and provide a sticky base for the candy.
My sister and I lined up gum drops, red hots, candy canes, Hershey’s kisses, M&Ms, and peppermints. We’d slyly slip them into our mouths while we waited to begin the decorating. When assembling the houses, one person put a thick layer of icing between pieces of gingerbread while the other two people held them together. We’d sit the roof on the base and hold the house together until it set.
Next was my favorite part: the decorating. The remaining icing covered the house to look like dripping snow and icicles. Gum drops lined the roof like holiday lights. Peppermints became windows and marshmallows made smoke on the chimney. Candy covered the roof. Some years we’d get fancy and create an icing path to the door of the home. I’m sure if I saw the houses today, I’d think they were a chaotic mess. But at the time, they were treasured works of art.
One year something was off. The gingerbread house just would not stay together. Perhaps the gingerbread was too thick or there was too much humidity in the air. The roof kept sliding off the house. We would lift it back up, add more icing and try again. A few minutes later, the two pieces would slowly slide down like Wile E Coyote sliding down a rock face after being foiled by Roadrunner.
We tried wedging things under them and sticking toothpicks in the roof for support. My mom even grabbed the hair dryer to make it dry faster. Globs of icing covered our fingers, arms, and the barrel of the hair dryer. The messier the situation got, the more we laughed.
That gingerbread house was probably our least attractive, but it was one of my favorites. The experience of building that perfectly imperfect gingerbread home was more fun and memorable than those that came together without challenge. It was messy, creative, and fun.
This year feels like we are crawling military-style to the finish line. It’s time for a break, rest, and reflection to make sense of everything. As the imprint of this year sets in, celebrate the perfectly imperfect moments. They may be off the planned path, but they shape us just the same and are sometimes more fun.
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