How to Make Christmas (a recipe for hopeless bakers)
- Dec 23, 2019
- 2 min read
by Mileva Anastasiadou
Start by carrying a Christmas tree and carry it wherever you go, add fairy lights at will, yet not too early, or Christmas won’t rise, as cakes won’t rise if you’re hasty, or not careful, but that isn’t a problem, for you’re making Christmas, not cakes.
Heat up some hope in a saucepan, then stir hope with kindness, a rare ingredient, yet necessary, and stir well and hard, until hope is smooth and creamy. Add cheesy commercials and songs, add blissful ignorance, or fake it, and spread cheer and love to whomever needs it, (like there’s anyone who doesn’t).
A smidge of fairy tale is optional, a pinch of love will add sweetness, so find a girl and fall in love, (an imaginary girlfriend will do), call her Red Riding Hood and you’ll be Robin Hood, and you’ll share a last name, only you’re not related, you’ll spend time, exchanging confusion about a world gone mad, you’ll share a fairy tale, a sweet ingredient, which won’t get bitter, untouched by everyday life.
Add a sudden gust of wild dance, no more than a few seconds, as you walk down the street, then bow to an imaginary audience or walk on, as if nothing happened, like actors do in movies.
A kiss under the mistletoe will add to flavor, if only you’ve got someone to kiss. A mild outlaw activity, like smoking indoors, brings on the excitement. Sprinkle snowflakes, or enter a snowglobe and ask friends to gently shake it, or you’ll get a snowstorm, which is scary and will spoil the end result.
Beat in some magic, caroling should do, or other imaginary hobbies, you only spend time with in your head. For caroling takes time and effort, like cooking or loving. It’s too fussy in reality, reality is too fussy. Upon despair, turn surreal and Christmas is saved.
Preheat oven, close your eyes and pray for miracles. Then bake and eat. Christmas will be over before you know it. Like life, like love, Christmas is noise coming out of nowhere, a wave between flat lines, a feast in the midst of darkness. Yet it’s served as the sweetest treat and you can save a piece, for Christmas isn’t a plain cake, or a sweet, it could be memory, preserved in the fridge, or your mind, forever, to warm up your taste buds and brighten your heart.
Mileva Anastasiadou is a neurologist, from Athens, Greece. A Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best Small Fictions nominated writer, her work can be found in many journals, such as Gone Lawn, Litro, Jellyfish Review, Queen Mob’s Tea House, Moon Park Review and others.
