Today is Mrs. Hazel Winslow’s turn to host the monthly neighborhood coffee klatch. Since it’s the host’s duty to provide refreshments, she spent the morning baking fresh muffins, pastries, and gingerbread cookies. She expected the usual attendees—her neighbors, Mary, Joy, April, and Brandy. They should be here at 11 a.m.
Hazel hummed a hymn as she removed the last batch of blueberry muffins from the oven and put in a tray of gingerbread men and women cookies. She used special cookie cutters that gave the gingerbread women skirts and the gingerbread men trousers, so you could tell them apart. Everybody loved her gingerbread people cookies.
She readied the counter with plates, napkins, cups, and silverware, fruit, and freshly baked pastries and muffins. When done, she sat on the barstool to resume reading “Freddy the Detective,” the classic children’s book she first read as a kid. It’s a charming story about a group of talking farm animals led by the very plump pig, Freddy.
Before she finished one page, her mind wandered to a wonderfully crazy world where animals could talk to humans and each other. As she reveled in the fantasy, images of Philo flitted across her mind.
Oh, how she missed him! After Philo passed several months ago, the bitter pang of crushing loneliness returned—a silent intruder bent on snuffing the very light from her soul, just as it tried to do in the dark days a decade before.
Oppressive. Stifling. Unbearable. The dictionary did not contain enough adjectives to describe the soul-sucking pain she endured for months that seemed like an eternity. Some nights, she wished she could end it all forever.
Hazel brushed away a tear. Philo became her lifesaver and best friend from the day they met, nearly a year after Mr. Winslow walked out the door. A miniature poodle with black tightly curled fur, Philo was smart as a whip and unswervingly loyal—the perfect companion for a lonely, elderly woman.
Boy, could that dog talk! She didn’t know dogs could talk before she met Philo, but he could talk the ears off a stalk of corn. She smiled as she recalled the great conversations they had on many subjects—from philosophy to politics and everything in between.
Immersed in thoughts of her late beloved pet, the timer buzzed and startled her back to the present. Time to take out the cookies. As she removed the tray from the oven, she heard a raspy male voice say, “It’s about time!” A higher-pitched raspy female voice chimed in, “Yeah lady, it’s hotter than Hell’s Kitchen in there. I’m about to croak.”
She put the hot cookie sheet on the counter and peered at the gingerbread cookies lying on the tray. Did they just talk, or was it her imagination? Surely cookies can’t talk, but then she remembered Freddy the pig, the farm animals, and Philo. If farm animals and a dog could talk, why not cookies?
“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” Hazel apologized. “I hope I didn’t hurt you. Are you alright?”
“Well, I am now,” snapped the gingerbread man. “Any more heat and I would have been toast. Haha! Bad metaphor,” he chuckled. “Not toast. A crispy-critter cookie.”
What kind of magic is this, Hazel wondered. How could this gingerbread man speak, let alone without a mouth, since she hadn’t given him one? Somehow, he was. “You look fine,” she said. “Not half-baked, not burnt, but perfectly crispy.”
“If you say so,” said the gingerbread man. “My name is Dante. Hahaha, get it? Dante’s Inferno?”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I get it. That’s a hot joke, Dante. I’d better throw you in the freezer and cool you down.”
“No, no, not the freezer,” Dante pleaded in mock terror. “I’m cool, a cool cat, you might say. He pointed to the gingerbread woman on his left. Hazel wondered whether she imagined it, or was he actually pointing, because everybody knows gingerbread men aren’t supposed to point. She decided he was.
“This is my wife, Danibelle,” said Dante. “Dani rings my bell. Get it? Dani…Bell? Haha. Best gingerbread wife ever!”
Hazel groaned. Oh my gosh, a gingerbread man who tells dad jokes, really bad dad jokes.
“You gonna say ‘hi’ to my wife?” asked Dante. “You shouldn’t keep a lady waiting. You know, ‘lady-in-waiting.’ Haha. Get it? I should have been an egg—I really crack myself up.”
“Oh dear, stop already,” Hazel teased with a playful grin. “I’m going to die of a bad-dad-joke-infection.”
“Haha! A bad-dad-joke-infection,” Dante quipped, “that’s dad-gummed-funny.”
“It is funny,” Hazel agreed. “You know what’s funnier? You have cracked egg in your DNA, baked-in, a part of the recipe you were made from. Maybe that’s why you’re so…”
“Cracked,” Danibelle interjected, “a cracked nut more like. Only good for squirrel food. But he’s my nut, so I guess I’ll have to keep him. I’m glad to meet you Mrs…?”
“Mrs. Hazel Winslow. I live here alone. My friends call me Hazel; you can call me Hazel too.”
“Can you get us off this tray, Hazel Too?” asked Danibelle. “My backside is still baking. I have some hot buns right now, and I’m not even a cinnamon roll.”
“Yeah, you got some ‘hot buns’ honey,” chimed Dante. “Or I should say, you got some ‘hot honey buns,’ honey bun.” The gingerbread couple cackled with laughter, and Hazel thought she heard snickers coming from the other gingerbread folk as well. Maybe I’m the one cracking up, she mused, then she brushed the troubling thought aside.
”It’s Hazel, not Hazel Too,” Hazel corrected Danibelle. “You two are quite the comedy duo, a real Ricky and Lucy Ricardo.
“Luuuuucyyyyy!” Dante called out in an exaggerated Ricky Ricardo style, and they burst into laughter.
“Do your cookie friends talk too?” Hazel asked.
“They can talk, but they don’t say much,” said Danibelle. “We do most of the talking for everyone. But when someone eats them, they snap, crackle, and pop pretty loud, like the Rice Krispie guys.
“Hilarious,” Hazel said.
“Not too hilarious when you’re being eaten,” said Danibelle, but yeah.”
“Trivia fact,” piped Dante. “I bet you didn’t know that there was a fourth Rice Krispie, did you? His name was ‘Pow.’ He was the spaceman Krispie guy from outer space. True story.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Hazel. “What happened to Pow?”
“Probably got abducted by aliens,” Dante smirked. “Had a big ‘Pow Wow’ in the sky, so to speak. Wait, if Pow was a spaceman, then he was probably an alien already. How could he abduct himself? I’m confused.”
Hazel chuckled as she resumed work. What a hoot. This guy is a joke-a-minute.
With a spatula, she carefully scooped the cookies from the baking tray and placed them on a serving plate next to the platter of muffins and pastries on the kitchen counter. She kept Dante and Danibelle on a separate small plate away from the rest and propped them up against the napkin holder in the center of the table.
“Okay, hold still, guys, don’t go anywhere. I need to start the coffee and heat the water for tea. My guests will be here soon.
”We are gingerbread people, you know,” said Dante, “we’re not going anywhere but in someone’s mouth.” They laughed, and Hazel thought it was a very astute observation by the little gingerbread man.
Hazel carried on a lively conversation with the gingerbread couple for several minutes until the doorbell rang. “The ladies are here!” she exclaimed. “They’re going to love you guys!”
*****
Hazel opened the front door and welcomed her guests. After greetings and hugs, she led them to the dining room, where she poured coffee and hot water for tea in their cups. They sat at the table and shared the latest gossip and news from around town.
With her quick wit and playful teasing, 64-year-old Brandy Smith set a raucous tone for the group. As something of a busy-body, Brandy soon had everybody up to date on local happenings and gossip. April Paine, 61 and recently divorced, giggled at everything, offering occasional dry quips as a humorous counterpoint. Mary Cress, 67, the only married woman of the group, shared a charming garden tale about bunnies, rutabaga, and snails. Joy Mellow, a 59-year-old divorcee, sat mostly quiet, her gentle smile and supportive nods reflecting her calm presence amidst the banter.
“Ladies, please help yourself to the goodies,” invited Hazel. “Muffins and pastries and gingerbread cookies, fresh-baked from my oven. Also grapes, melon, and strawberries and cottage cheese if you rather. Just don’t eat these two here.” She gestured to Dante and Danibelle propped up on the plate facing the seated ladies.
The women oohed-and-aahed over the baked goods. “Oh my gosh, this literally melts in my mouth,” gushed Mary as she took a bite of a blueberry muffin. “Mmmm…yeah…so good,” cooed April, “best pastries ever.” With their mouths full of delectable treats, there were no further sounds from the ladies other than “umm-hmm,” “yum,” and satisfied sighs.
Hazel beamed. She worked hard at getting everything just right, and it paid off. It’s always nice to get compliments from friends. And it was so nice to have them here today.
“So what’s the deal with those two gingerbread cookies?” asked Brandy. “You have them standing up like real people. And we can’t eat them. Is there something special about them?”
“Yes,” answered Hazel. “They are my new friends. Meet Dante and Danibelle.”
“Hi, said the gingerbread couple in unison. “We’re glad to meet you.”
The ladies looked at each other, then back at Hazel. “That’s funny Hazel,” said Mary. “You’re naming your cookies now?”
“I didn’t name them,” Hazel answered, “they told me their names when I met them. Didn’t you hear them say ‘hi?’”
“No,” said Joy. She looked at the other ladies and shrugged. “Did you hear anything?”
They shook their heads. “What’s going on Hazel?” asked April.
Hazel sighed. “Come on ladies, don’t you see? They talk to me. Please don’t tell me you can’t hear them. I’m not crazy.”
“No, honest, we didn’t hear anything,” said April.
Hazel looked at the gingerbread couple. “I’m sorry, they didn’t hear you. Can you say ‘hi’ again, a little louder this time?”
“Hi ladies,” said Danibelle. “I’m glad to meet you. This is my husband, Dante. Isn’t he hot? Well, not quite as hot as the inferno he came out of today. He was ‘smokin’ hot’ then.”
Hazel managed a weak smile and looked back at her guests. “See, she talks. Funny too, isn’t she?”
Brandy raised her eyebrows.“Umm…wow…no, I don’t hear anything,” she said. “Seriously Hazel. Is this a joke? Are you okay?”
“I’ve never felt better,” Hazel replied. I’ve never felt more sharp and alive than I do right now.”
“Well, you are talking to cookies, and cookies don’t talk. You know that, right?” said Joy.
Hazel sighed, exasperated with her friends’ disbelief. “Ladies, I used to talk with Philo all the time. We had lots of great conversations, and we understood each other perfectly. Since he’s been gone, I’ve been so lonely without him.”
Her face brightened. “If I can talk to my dog, why can’t I talk to my cookies? Dante and Danibelle came right out of the oven and started talking to me. Isn’t that amazing?”
“No, it’s disturbing,” said April. “We all understand loneliness, and we know you’ve been lonely without Philo. We’re sorry for your loss. But you can’t talk to imaginary friends. Especially cookies.”
“Maybe we should get you another dog,” suggested Mary.
“No! They’re not imaginary!” shouted Hazel. “They talk to me, and I talk to them! You think I’m crazy don’t you,but I’m not! You’re all jealous of me!”
The ladies remained silent, unsure of what to say. Joy spoke first. “Aww…geez Hazel, I’m sorry. We’re not saying you’re crazy. But if I may speak for everyone else…” She looked around the table and they nodded. “We are concerned about you. Maybe you should talk to someone.”
She pulled a card from her purse. “I know a good therapist. She helped me out when I went through a rough patch. Here’s the number. Call her. Please.”
“I’m not crazy,” insisted Hazel, near tears. I have never felt more sane than I do right now. If anyone’s crazy, it’s you. And you have offended my friends. Right Dante? Danibelle?
“Yes, they said together. We are offended.”
“See,” said Hazel. “You offended them. I think you need to apologize.”
“I think we need to go,” said Joy. “Thanks for the coffee and muffins, Hazel. And please consider calling that number I gave you, okay?” The ladies echoed their thanks, gathered their handbags, and rose to leave. Moments later, they were gone.
Hazel looked at Dante and Danibelle, tears streaming from her eyes. “I’m sorry guys,” she said. “They didn’t mean to be rude. They don’t understand.”
“It’s okay,” said Dante. You’re the only one we want to be a family with. You created us. You are our mother. We love you.”
“Family?” Hazel whispered as she dabbed away the tears with a napkin. “Thank you. I love you too.”
As she cleared the table of coffee mugs and plates, she heard a sound—a voice perhaps?—so soft she surely must have imagined it. She paused and listened. There it was again.
“We are your family too,” said a voice. “You are our mother,” said another. “We love you.”
Hazel looked at Dante and Danibelle, but it wasn’t them. She looked at the plates of muffins and pastries. No, it couldn’t be.
“Right here,” said a voice. A voice from the muffin plate.
“Us too,” squeaked a voice from the pastry plate. “Don’t forget us. We are your children. We love you, mother.”
Hazel felt a rush of joy she had not known since Philo passed away. No longer would she have to be alone. No longer would she need to spend endless nights praying for a companion to help ease the unbearable loneliness.
Mrs. Hazel Winslow reflected on her serendipity. “What a sweet life!” she marveled. “As long as I can bake, I will always have a family who loves me and accepts me as I am. Who cares what other people think? Who needs judgmental neighbors when I have a family like this?”
She gazed upward and breathed a silent prayer: “Thank you God, for my family.” As if they could read her mind, her newfound family—the gingerbread people, the muffins, and the pastries—all said together, “Amen, mother! Amen!”
