Savage cookies

It began before the beginning.

The wife’s mother and sister were early.

“I gotta go,” my brother, the former fruit plantation master, said as the Savage women came through the door carrying boxes and boxes of “cookie shit.” Coward!

They were coming to my house to decorate Easter cookies. I have no idea why it took four boxes the size of filing cabinets to do it, but I was not going to stick around to find out.

My brother was wise to escape. I was left behind in a desperate search to find a safe place in my own home. I decided that place was outside.

“Going to wash my bike… and I’m taking my little dog with me.”

But of course no one heard me. The three medicare-eligible Savages were shouting over each other. Sure, the government would pay for their hearing aids, but they refuse to even get a test.

My wife, who my father affectionately calls “Sgt. Savage” as an ode to his drill sergeant who trained him for war in Korea, was barking the orders.

“Mom, sit down and do these…” Sgt, Savage yelled over her 96-year-old mother’s attempts to explain why she was in the “wrong” place.

“Kay! What are you doing over there? You need to be here.”

Kay was ignoring her and talking over her about something “important” she was trying to accomplish.

The Sgt. was having none of it. As I walked out the door, she was frog-marching the Savages to their stations at the “decorating table” like they are suspected Venezuelan gang members flying to a supermax prison in El Salvador.

She had come into the day ready for a fight. The night before, she told me how this all began. All three Savages had volunteered to make the family sugar cookies. Kay won the bidding war for “most self-sacrificing Savage” and was tasked with baking.

“She told me last night, she hadn’t done the cookies yet,” the wife said. “But we are decorating tomorrow – I don’t care if she has to stay up all night.”

Of course in the previous weeks, there had been further rounds of negotiations and discussion over who was making the cookies. But the wife would not be moved.

“She wanted to make ’em. She can figure it out.”

Apparently, she did. But a few contentions remained as they settled in for the final step.

I killed nearly an hour, spraying and soaking the sandy gears and dirty tires on “Carol’s bike”. When I re-entered the house, the mood had changed.

“That looks great, Mom.” Sgt. Savage said. “Good job on the icing, Kay.”

“After the recriminations, come the compliments,” I said. Only the Sgt. laughed.

It’s standard “leadership practice” to get the Savages to do as you wish – practiced by authoritarians the world over and honed to perfection by Sgt. Savage after nearly 40 years of teaching (this year it’s 7th grade math). Order, demand, and critique followed by praise and rewards. Dr. Skinner’s rats would recognize the pattern. In this case it was stick first, carrot second.

I headed past the decorating table and straight to my office to close the solid wooden door we had installed earlier this year for just such an occasion. I set the cloth sweeper under the door to keep the noise from bouncing off the tile and echoing around my computer.

A call for help

I’m between federal grants at my job, so I still “work” a few hours a week, but I don’t get paid. My computer was full of messages from tech support about “dangers from viruses.”

Eventually, tech support got on a zoom meeting to take over my computer and try to update it from the operating system we installed in 2021.

It takes several steps and multiple long downloads and complete updates to transition from the pandemic to the post-pandemic tech world. 30 minutes later, tech support and I were still in the meeting.

Meanwhile, the little dog had pushed open the door to seek company and safety.

From the cookie room, shouts and screams came in quick succession. No one could have discerned the actual words, but the mood was back to barking orders, with simultaneous objections and the by now “standard” final recriminations.

In the cacophony, I re-closed the door.

“Are you OK?” the tech lady said.

After a long pause and my first clear thought of the day, I said. “I’m in no physical danger, but I’m not sure anything in this house is OK today — my in-laws are here. And they are trying to bake together.”

Tech support moved on.

“Well, you can leave your video and sound on if you like. Or you can leave. It’s going to take an hour or so to get these updates done.”

I made the safe choice. I got on the sparkly clean bike with Carol and left.

When I returned 25 miles and two hours later, the cookies were done and in the freezer. The Savages had excited. My brother was back on the couch watching soccer. My computer just needed 4 restarts to fully update…

So yes, yes, tech lady, now I can say with confidence, “I’m OK.”

PS — those cookies were damn good.