Sweet Home

"And I had but one penny in the world. Thou should’st have it to buy gingerbread." – William Shakespeare, Love’s Labours Lost

Daddy and I applied ourselves to making a gingerbread house last night.  And when I say we both did, I mean he did, and I made editorial comments and ate Red Vines.

Maeve got in on the action, too, and got to snack on some gumdrops, chocolate graham crackers, and marshmallows.  We cut her off after about a half an hour, but not before she gave her best shot at eating a gummy bear, which was ultimately unsuccessful.

My addition to the project was the making of the royal icing, which was not difficult, but the loud sounds of the mixer whipping the daylights out of egg whites and powdered sugar made Maeve a little distressed.  We were successful in keeping her away from the icing, however, which took some doing.

I have been giving some thought to Tomte, the Scandinavian spirits of the home and hearth that guard a person's residence.  They are very similar in nature to hobs of the English tradition, and are generally appeased by a bowl of porridge set out at Christmas.  My heritage is more Icelandic than anything else, which is not saying much, since I'm a jolly mix of Europeans of all stripes.  But that one heritage stands out to me, especially at the holidays, when many people celebrate according to their own traditions.

But I think our gingerbread house will be a nice gift to our Tomte, if we have one, as it's a residence and a good source of snacks.  And when we get a house of our own, I may set out a bowl of porridge at Christmas, just in case.  It pays to be generous to everyone at the holidays!