Mexican Shortbread Cookies

Each December, the family kitchen at Oma's house became a bakery. Oma would host each grandchild on a different day during the school holidays, and together they would create cookies of the grandchild's choosing. They would bake and decorate them together, and Oma would send the grandchild back home with two dozen of them while keeping a dozen or so to serve at the family Christmas celebration on the 25th.

Edna, Oma's oldest grandchild had been too busy in recent years to participate in this tradition. She was in college now. During the holidays, she worked as much as she could in retail to earn money for her next semester of school. Oma admired Edna for her tenacity. The girl was a whirlwind of economy, working and saving money all the time. Oma made sure to mail Edna plenty of care packages during each college semester. And into every care package went some of Oma's cookies.

It had surprised and delighted Oma when Edna said she wanted to participate in the cookie baking this year. And the cookies she wanted to bake? Polvorones Rosas (Mexican shortbread). Oma had done a little research to get a good recipe as these were new cookies to her, although she had seen and tasted them before. They were often featured in her local grocery store because her neighborhood--while undergoing some current gentrification--was quite multicultural.

Oma had lived in this area of the city since the homes built here were new. It had been a suburb back then, lying on the outskirts of the city. However, the housing market had changed over the years. At one point, Oma's neighborhood was all one ethnicity, then changed to different ethnicity, and by the looks of things, was going back to the original one again. Oma hoped that some of the quaint character brought on by all of the different people would remain, but she had doubts. Once the housing market began to raise home values, everyone her age wanted to sell.

However, she was determined to stay put and age in place. She had lived in her house since she had been a young married woman. She had raised her children there, and had buried a husband nearby, and had no intention of uprooting herself at this late stage of life. Although her house was small, it was hers. And it was home.

Her kitchen was so small, she had been forced to host each grandchild individually for her cookie baking lessons as it just got too crowded with too many people in the tiny, hot room. Edna had been the final grandchild this year to come and bake with her just a few days before Christmas. After Edna left with her plate of two dozen pink and yellow Mexican shortbread cookies, Oma decided to do something different. Instead of packing the cookies away into a tin canister as she usually did, she arranged them on the Christmas plate she won a week ago at her church's bingo night.

It was only a few days until the cookies would all be set up on a card table in her dining room waiting until she made the coffee in the afternoon of Christmas Day when all of her family would enjoy dessert. So why not just start getting things ready now? She wrapped the plate of the last batch of Christmas cookies she intended to bake that year loosely in waxed paper just to keep the bugs off and went to bed.

The next day was Christmas Eve. Oma was busy running last minute errands and wrapping gifts. Her youngest son, Rob, was set to arrive sometime after 8 p.m. He would stay in her guest room until New Year's Day. She was excited that he said he was bringing a friend with him. A female. "This is such good news," thought Oma.

As it happened, when her youngest child arrived with his female in tow, it wasn't a human he had brought. It was his new dog, a shih tzu named Thelma. Oma let him know how disappointed she was at this turn of events. Rob decided to make it up to her by attending midnight mass with her. Oma was grateful to him for this, but she didn't like the idea of leaving Thelma alone in the house.

"Oh, don't worry," Rob assured her. "She's completely house-broken." Midnight mass that year was one for the record books. It had been raining all week, but that morning, the weather turned bitterly cold. When Oma and Rob left the church together after the service, there were light snow flurries. Rob seemed excited by them. "You want to walk to the car?" he asked.

"It's too cold," said Oma. "Just go get it. I'll wait here." She also was delighted by the flurries on Christmas Eve, however, she was old enough to be concerned about falling on slippery cement.

When they got home, Rob announced he was going to bed. Oma went into her kitchen and turned on the light. She glanced at the table, then shouted, "Rob, where are my cookies?"

Rob ran into the kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

"My Mexican shortbread cookies. I left them right here, with the red food coloring package to remind me to buy some more because the recipe used so much of it, I'm almost out." Rob just stared at her.

"When did you start baking Mexican shortbread cookies?" he said.

"When Edna decided she wanted some this year for some reason. I don't know why. But I had an entire plateful of the pink ones here on the table ready to go for Christmas Day." Rob just shrugged. He looked at Oma strangely. She got the impression that he believed she may be experiencing the early signs of dementia.

"You didn't eat them while I was getting ready to go to church, did you?" she accused.

"No, of course I didn't," said Rob.

"Well, then, where are they? And where is my package of red food coloring? Someone has been inside this house!" It was all Rob could do to calm Oma down.  He knew her neighborhood had enjoyed its share of break-ins of late.  He worried about his mother living alone.  In fact, he had recently started to think about moving back to the city.  All of his siblings were married with children, and he knew the care of his mother while she aged would most likely fall onto his shoulders for the day to day upkeep of her house.  He was sure his sisters would have a say in how things were done, however.

       After making sure Oma was in bed and letting Thelma in and out for her final restroom break of the night, he sat up in the living room of his childhood home.  He was unnerved not by the supposed missing cookies but about how adamant his mother had been that they were missing.  

     The next morning was Christmas.  While all of his siblings were in their own homes enjoying opening gifts with spouses and children, Rob was alone.  He checked on Oma and decided to let her sleep as long as possible.  He quietly dressed and took Thelma on her morning walk.  

      When Rob and Thelma returned about an hour later, Oma was up and drinking coffee.  Rob greeted her, and then said, “I have been investigating your missing cookies this morning.”

     “You mean you believe me?” said Oma.

     “Oh, yes, I believe you.  In fact, I have evidence.  And I know who ate your cookies.”

      “Are you about to confess?” said Oma dryly.  Rob smiled.  

      “No, but we both know there is someone else in this house today, don’t we?”  His gaze went to the floor where Thelma sat happily wagging her tail at them.  Oma followed his train of thought.  

       “But how…” began Oma.

       “I found this last night,” said Rob reaching into his jacket pocket.  He produced the chewed up package of red food coloring.  “And if that is not enough,” he continued, “when Thelma did her pooping on our walk this morning, she let out the most beautiful pink dog shit I have ever seen.”

    Oma looked from Rob to Thelma and back again.  “Well, at least she likes my cooking,” she said.  Then they both laughed.