Relay call right before 5, the operator providing the verbal relay has a heavy accent, and it seems the party on the other end of the line is having a hard time making the transition from sign language speak to the idiom of spoken language. This conversation is an extra challenge because I was up late last night, didn’t get to bed until 2:30 and I’m all jet lagged east coast to west coast time zones. Throughout the day I felt as if I have crust in my eyes that won’t clear out, a frog that won’t leave my throat, a fuzzy coherence as I tackle a week’s worth of catch-up, familiarizing myself with what’s been going on, the day to day, hirings, firings, adjustments, changes, updates, etc.
On top of it we’re being audited, and some of the things the auditor needs to review seem like elements of a foreign language, all riddled with acronyms and numbers, spreadsheets and access reports slowly suffocating me and making me gasp for air. I just want to take a nap. I brought back two pounds of Italian cookies from New York for everyone in the office, and they were an immediate hit. Everyone oooed and aahed, took a few cookies back to their desks, temporarily increasing their productivity on the crescendo of a sugar high.
The buttery smell of those cookies initiated such a strong nostalgia, of times when I was a kid and would gorge myself on those buttery delights, holidays at my Aunt’s house eating all the sweets in sight. Now that I’m older, I still enjoy those cookies, but also appreciate the art of baked goods. The shapes, colors, and combinations of jellies, chocolate and sprinkle adornments make them almost too good to eat, they become an extreme visual and olfactory stimulation.
In the near future I’m going to upload my bakery pictures. If I wasn’t doing what I’m doing now, I might have been a baker. Cooking is an art, but baking is a science.