Why you Shouldn't Eat Cookies in Summer

It was almost midnight — a balmy summer night with velvety purple sky and our mother star scratching along just barely below the horizon. Flickering fireflies were tumbling about among shrubs and trees. The perfect night to sit around a crackling campfire with friends, light chitchat, silly jokes and endless sharing of fond memories and stories. I could almost feeling the aroma of roasted marshmellows, potatoes and stick bread lingering in the air. Only — there were no friends. Lockdown. Even mild and vividly colored midsummer nights can give you a chill without company. But why not party anyway! If it was the end of the world as we knew it, so what? I sat on my terrace, and I wasn’t alone, after all. My dogs snore beside me and I was joined by my good pals Pinot Grigio and Cookie Jar. Cheers to the world!.

The wine seems to taste more sour than usual. Never drink alone, they say, and yet wine, beer and spirit sales went through the ceiling in these viral times. I looked at the cookie jar, wondering how the cookie markets were faring. The cookie jar was unimpressed and refused to give me a clue. Cluelessness. Perhaps that’s the keyword of our time. What shall we do when we have absolutely no idea what to do? No inkling of what the heck is going on, what all this is about — and why? Should we just make up realities, invent reasons and facts to justify whatever we do, or don’t do? Should we just join one of the countless ludicrous bandwagons of invented facts and imaginary causes crisscrossing our time as never before in all of history? „Keep calm“ I thought. The Taoists suggest to follow the concept of Wu-Wei. Non-acting. It doesn’t mean to never do anything at all. That would be the opposite of living. It means to refrain from overactivity, to forego unnecessary action and, in particular, to take a step back and pause when we have no idea what to do. It often is better to do nothing than to do something wrong. More often than not our actions cause more problems than they solves…

A floating feeling of remote detachment crept up in me when I observed how a hand that very much looked like mine slowly moved toward the cookie jar, took off the glass lit and was about to grab one of these tasty looking chocolate oat cookies. That hand was stopped dead in its tracks when its owner jolted because his ears were assaulted by a terrifying high pitched demonic shriek as loud as a gun shot. I shivered a bit and turned my head to the left. A large Barn Owl was ominously perched on a branch of the young chestnut tree, just about 4 meters away from me. She just sat there, silent, unmoved, meditating. A birdly Zen Master. Here eyes didn’t wink, and she stared right back at me, fireflies buzzing about her, the dim light of the night eerily reflected by her retina. Certainly this was one beautiful demon. We continued the staring game for a while, and eventually the owl won. I didn’t care of course. A staring competition with some cocky nightbird. So what? But what was that sensation somewhere near the center of my stomach. Wait… it felt like, well, at least an echo of something closely resembling embarrassment. Na — must be my brain playing memory tricks on me, right?

Fireflies can be hypnotizing in such warm, damp nights. Did I mention that it had rained earlier that evening? Slow warm summer rain. Here and there drops lazily dripped from the trees with tentative plop and splash sounds, accompanying percussion for the dazzling dance of the glittering glow worms.

With its owners mind detached from his body the hand embarked on another attempt to raid the cookie vault, and again it was stopped by another and seemingly even louder and longer version of the demon’s shriek. This time it had a a distinctly accusing note to it.

Another round of the staring game began. I felt uneasy. It caught me by surprise when I heard myself saying „What on Earth do you have against cookies?“. I talked to an owl. In vino veritas indeed? Or perhaps not. But it was a very light wine, actually Pinot Grigio spritzer. Certainly it wasn’t the wine’s fault that it felt as if my hand had said these words rather than my brain. Or perhaps my stomach had somehow hijacked my hand and parts of my brain? Was I really me or just an encapsulated simulation of myself within me? Sigh.

The owl won this round of the staring game as well, and I took a sip of the Italian truth serum. Daringly I reached for a cookie, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised that my feathered companion shot another shriek at me, this time emphasized by frantically flapping her wings. „You“, I said, „are not going to tell me what to do or not to do.“ Daringly I took a cookie from the jar with a very deliberate and fast motion. For unknown reasons my hand trembled violently and I almost dropped it. Hissing and ruffling sounds came from the bird’s direction. I looked at her. „Want one?“ I asked.

I hardly could believe my eyes when she slowly and very clearly shook her head several times and then seemingly took a deep breath while looking down in exasperation. Inhaling deeply. Exhaling slowly. Yes. That always helps.

After a rather relieving sigh I picked up that futile chat again. „So tell me, little Athena, what is it between you and cookies?“. She greeted the question with excited head bobbing and what looked like a hectic bird version of rapid squats. Apparently my feathery companion was rather pleased that I finally showed some willingness to enter a serious conversation. Answer my question she did not. However, what I was able to do was to simulate the mind of the owl within my own cranial domains!

The message itself was clear enough: „Don’t eat cookies!“. But why? She didn’t mind me drinking wine. Of course not. She is a symbol of Athena, the greek goddess of wisdom. Wine is nothing short of sacred in that Dionysian part of the world. But cookies? Why not eat cookies?

Owly shook her head in dismay again, as if she could guess — or read — my thoughts.

„You’re one ghastly little trickster, aren’t you? What is it this time? Am I on the wrong track?“. Head moving from side to side. Slowly. Eyes locked with mine. Okay. I was partly on the wrong track, it would seem. But not entirely. More to myself than to the pesky bird of prey I murmured „Perhaps it is not about eating cookies in general…“.

A small cloud of slowly dancing fireflies circled the owls nodding head. „I get it — it’s about which cookies, right?“ Violent impatient head shaking and another stare game round. This time I was determined to be steadfast. After a while I slowly said „Then it can only be about timing. Hm? Timing is it. Not what, or where, but when?“ The answer came as a nod as slow as the words I had spoken, emphasized by a muzzled shriek. The message seemed clear enough: Don’t eat cookies in summer!

Now what to make out of that? My eyes grew weary and I realized that I was tired to the bones. Conversations with owls seemed to take their toll. Or was it just the combination of habitual night-owling, too much summer wine and that dreadful all encompassing pandemic fatigue? When I took another sip of Pinot Grigio spritz the wind picked up, and a balmy breeze gently embraced us. With it it carried a distinct smell. I took a deep breath, and before my inner eye an image formed. A crackling fire, family and friends chatting and laughing at a festive dinner table. And that smell! A mix of spices and sweets and, well, something smelled like forest… Christmas. The cookie smell reminded me of Christmas! Was that it?

I gazed at the owl and simply said „Christmas?“. She theatrically stretched out her majestic wings. Finally.. Ha! But still — the reason. Although it dawned on me. We need comfort during those endless dark winter nights. Hot chocolate. Hot spiced wine. Festive rich meals. Treating each other to gifts and, last but not least, cookies. Puppies are forever, not just for Christmas, but cookies are as much part of Christmas as Christmas trees. The marvelous magic of nature transforms sunlight into sugar, flour, butter, milk and chocolate, so we can brighten up our winter darkened souls by tingling our taste buds with the sweet aromas of concentrated sunlight. There is no such word as „Midsummernight Cookies“. Nobody sings songs about baking cookies in summer. Why brighten up a time that already is drenched in light until deep into the night? Cookies are magic medicine, a remedy that keeps the chill of the dark season from taking root in our spirits.