Some Holiday Cheer from Us To YOU.

Every year Jack writes a Christmas story. I look forward to all of his writings especially at Christmas. He is so wonderful and so talented I don't know where he gets this talent to write but I love it! I am so blessed to be apart of his life. We hope you enjoy this story this holiday season and keep the true meaning of christmas in your hearts.

A Ginger Christmas

By: Jack Roberts

Every Christmas inside the cozy town of St. Lucia was a bake off. Baker’s both young and old, male and female, beginners and veterans, prepared their best holiday dish which was then auctioned to provide food and gifts for those in need. It was a town tradition that brought the community together and ignited the hearts of all with the true meaning of Christmas; well, at least in theory.
The bake off had a variety of categories: pies, cakes, cookies, brownies, and fudge. But the most coveted and anticipated category of them all was the gingerbread houses. These “houses” or more accurately named “fashions of architecture” demanded elaborate creativity, meticulous skill, and technical engineering. People poured hundreds of hours and dollars into these works of art. The results were astounding, and businesses paid big bucks for the winners. Annmarie Benton had won it for the last five years in a row.
It wasn’t Annmarie’s husband being the town’s mayor, or her four perfectly behaved and honor roll children; nor was it her stately house, shiny Mercedes, and two golden retrievers that made Maggie green in envy. Perhaps it wasn’t her perky and trimmed body (that she somehow managed after her children), or her perfectly placed blonde hair, glowing smile, and designer clothes that breathed just enough skin to distract the men of St. Lucia. No, those things didn’t make Maggie jealous; or just maybe they did.
For every Annmarie in a town there’s a Maggie. Maggie was plain no matter how hard she tried to stay pretty. Her body, worn and battered by two difficult pregnancies, was now shapeless and unattractive. The house, a wreck, was held together by her will alone, while her now teenage kids came and went as they pleased. As for her high school sweetheart Greg, he was chubby, lazy, and now content with his marginally paying job. As far as Maggie was concerned, her hopes and dreams of a better life was non-existent – or just maybe that’s all she saw.
It was November first, the morning after Halloween. Maggie pushed the squeaky shopping cart through the aisles of the supermarket putting in her list of groceries one by one. Next on the list: paper towels. Maggie turned into aisle eight where she expected to find a row of wrapped towels, but instead there stood Annmarie, and of course she looked incredible.
“Oh hi, Maggie,” Annmarie said happily.
Forcefully, Maggie grinned and quickly looked down at her grocery list.
“How was your Halloween?” Annmarie asked.
Maggie kept walking, “Fine and dandy.”
The cart squeaked past Annmarie.
“How’s Greg?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Oh you know Greg.”
Ann laughed. “You married one funny guy. Everyone just loves Greg.”
Maggie forced a laugh. “Sure did.”
The cart squeaked around the corner.
Maggie drove from the supermarket straight to the city building and registered herself for the bake off: gingerbread house category. Maggie had never built a gingerbread house before, but determination replaced envy and she was set on winning that blue ribbon come hell or high water.
“Don’t get me wrong honey,” Greg began. “I think it’s great that you want to win this. But, don’t you remember what kind of gingerbread houses win? They’re like Buckingham Palace these things! I’m not kidding, I remember one that had gold and silver laced frosting on it. Gold and silver frosting! Now, where in the world are you going to get something like that?”
Maggie’s face was red. “Of course you think I can’t do it. You’ve never won anything in your life!”
Maggie went to work, day in and day out trying to create a masterpiece good enough to compete with Annmarie’s past designs. She scoured the internet looking through photos and “how to” articles. Next, she began drafting her designs to the exact dimensions and ingredients down to the last gum drop. At last, she created a design, if done right, could win the whole thing. Now, it was time to get started.
Brian and Jill walked in from school. Jill had on her headphones and headed straight to her room. Brian threw his backpack on the floor of the kitchen. “Is that gingerbread dough?”
“Yeah,” Maggie replied kneading her hands through a thick slab of brown dough.
“Dad said you signed up for the bake off. Need some help?”
Maggie reached for the rolling pin. “Ha!” she cried. “Not if I want to win. Plus, your room’s a mess. I need to you clean it pronto. And, for the hundredth time, hang up your backpack!”
Maggie took her time with each step of her masterpiece. Refusing to rush any detail, she would take an entire day and work one window until it was perfect. Every day she would work slowly and surely. Never before had she had such focus, such complete concentration. As she progressed through each stage of the gingerbread house a greater sense of confidence and ownership in her abilities began pouring in. It was like a well of inspiration had opened up in her mind, and she only had to heave up the buckets that were overfilled and pour it into the masterpiece. Likewise, her hands, not accustomed to intricate and precise movement, took on a painters touch: delicate yet powerful, steady yet flexible, swift yet defined. Maggie was in the zone.
“You should’ve seen Caroline’s house. It was a disaster! There wasn’t a straight or even wall on the entire thing. I didn’t even know what to say about it,” Maggie announced.
Greg scratched his head. “Really? So what did you say?”
“I told her she has a lot of work to do if she wants to compete in this. I just can’t believe she been doing this for the past three years and her basic structure is so bad. She went on with all these plans with a ginger garage and a ginger car. Kind of tacky, don’t ya’ think?”
“I know honey, but not everyone is set on creating glass stained murals for windows.”
Maggie sighed. “We’ll it’s her own fault. She said her walls are uneven because her daughters did them. Why would anyone let their eleven year old twins set their foundation? It’s like she’s content with mediocrity.”
Greg shook his head. “Maggie, it sounds like Caroline is enjoying this with her family. Who cares if her walls are uneven, at least they’re having a good time.”
“Then have the kids do a house for themselves. This bakeoff isn’t about crummy houses that kids slap together; it’s about raising money for people in need. Who’s going to spend money on a gingerbread house that looks like a mess?”
“So this is about winning for the needy?”
“What did you think I was doing it for?” Maggie snapped.
“Well, to win – have someone finally beat Annmarie.”
Maggie’s lips tightened and her eyebrows furrowed.
“I think it would be nice if we could do one together as family,” Greg replied quickly.
“I don’t have the luxury to do another one, Greg. How about you get involved and do one with the kids.”
There was two weeks left until the bakeoff. Maggie had made good progress but she still had a lot of detailing that needed to be done: the roof needed shingles, walls needed texturing, and not to mention that nothing had been frosted. Panic began swelling in Maggie.
The day before, Maggie had spent all day working on a type of gingerbread clay that she was going to use for texturing the walls of her home. It took three batches but finally she had gotten it right. That morning, however, her magnificent veranda had cracked and was slowly sliding off her home. All day was spent fixing and perfecting that important piece.
After dinner, Maggie went to Lisa Jorgensen’s who was showing her how to make a unique frosting that was moldable. Lisa had long been a gingerbread artist and judge but had since retired when she was put in charge of the entire bake off.
Christmas music filled the home when Maggie got back. Kicking her slush coated boots off at the door, she smiled at the sounds of laughter coming from the kitchen. Entering, the sight was picture perfect: her two kids and husband building a crude gingerbread house as a family. Maggie was touched, and wished, if only for a second, that she hadn’t ostracized herself in recommending they do it without her. But that special moment was soon crushed by one awful question that came as a bolt of lightning: Where did they get the gingerbread dough?
Greg spent that night sleeping on the couch. But not because Maggie demanded that he do, but because he fell asleep watching TV. He woke around midnight, but realized he had a good excuse to not have to go back and sleep next to a grouchy Maggie.
Maggie, on the other hand, felt more alone than ever. After belittling Greg in front of the kids for a half hour for using her precious dough, she paced around in her room mulling over her frustrations and waiting to grill Greg even more. But Greg fell asleep and Maggie was alone – like she had been for the past month.
The two weeks went by and Maggie’s gingerbread house was incredible. It was an original masterpiece with a perfect blend of creative imagination, and intricate details mixed with complex architecture. She had surprised not only Greg and the kids, but she surprised herself. With the competition in two days, she would have time to rest up and be ready.
The day of the entries had come. Arriving at the convention center people milled back and forth making every last detail of their gingerbread houses just right. Maggie knew she’d be distracted by the houses of everyone else, so she took care to focus only on making her display perfect first, then she’d be able to scrutinize the entries of the others. Her table was number 7 out of 42 entries. She cleaned it, prepped it with a crimson velvet cloth and then brought in her masterpiece. Although her will to avoid outside distractions was strong, she couldn’t help but notice the awe’s and finger pointing of the entire room as she carefully brought in her gingerbread house. The house was positioned, and then most gingerly, it was set. Just a few final touches and it was, as Maggie had dreamt – perfect.
Maggie turned, all around her was gathered a group of people mesmerized by her creation. They adored her with complements and promises of winnings and flooded her with questions of design and style. Maggie couldn’t hold back her smile; she beamed.
“The judging will take place in five minutes,” a voice declared over the intercom. “Please take your places by your allotted table.”
Maggie’s admirers scattered, except for one. Annmarie stood smiling in a lush dress hugging her curves like an hour glass. Maggie’s smile faded.
“I am so impressed, Maggie. That is one of the most beautiful houses I have ever seen.” She extended a hand. “Best of luck.”
So she respects me now that I’m a threat. Maggie thought shaking her hand.
The judging began. A panel of five judges took a minute at each table. Each judge judged one specific piece of the house with a combined total of 50 points possible. Being table #7, Maggie watched the judges begin. Her heart fluttered; she could win this.
A slight movement caught Maggie’s eye. Glancing downward she saw an impossible sight: a giant crack split through the cooked gingerbread from the bottom of her house up through the chimney. Stunned, Maggie stood frozen. How could this have happened? She prepared the dough so thoroughly and cooked it so accordingly as to avoid any probability of this happening. The roof tilted suddenly, undoubtedly caused from the crack, and Maggie instinctively reached out to prevent any further shifts. Adrenaline, panic, and fear swept through Maggie like an easterly wind, and her typical surgeon-like hands which had always proved steady crashed against the house caving in the walls. In a flash, her masterpiece was in ruin.
Maggie opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. This was beyond nightmare, this was unthinkable. Before Maggie could try and piece the pieces back in place the panel of judges stood before her devastation and sadly disqualified her entry.
Friends and strangers gave their heartfelt apologies, but they fell on deaf ears. Maggie was shattered. All her work, and time, and care! Whatever authentic aspirations Maggie had convinced herself of why she was working so hard proved erroneous as the pit that now sat in her gut was deep and empty. Maggie knew the bake off hadn’t been about the people benefiting from the auctioned goods, although she did like having a plus side, it had always been about proving something to herself; that she was talented, ambitious, and her self-worth was more than cooking dinners and doing the laundry. Somewhere, over the years of being mom, her vision of reality had been altered – seeing life through tired and worn out glasses that revealed the worse of everyone, including herself.
She dumped her crumbled masterpiece in the garbage and headed for the car. But something else caught her eye on her way out; a crudely made gingerbread house standing crookedly on a familiar platter, with the three most beautiful people she had ever seen standing behind it.
Maggie didn’t walk away empty handed that night. In fact, their simple family-made gingerbread house was auctioned off as the second most expensive gingerbread house of the night! The buyer who paid the generous amount just happened to have also won the competition for the sixth straight year in a row.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Love: The Roberts Family