The Old Lady Who Made Gingerbread

A little story about remembering your ‘why’

There was once a little old lady who loved to make gingerbread. She had made it for years, and her friends and family all thought her rather good at it.

From the moment she took out her heavy bowl from the cupboard, her eyes began to twinkle, her hands trembled with excitement and her nose would twitch in anticipation of how wonderful her home would smell as it baked in the oven!

Most days, she would make a fresh batch for all who wanted it, even shaking out the crumbs from the oven tray for a beautiful red robin who came like clockwork at 11am to perch upon her garden gate.

Sometimes, she formed the dough into stars or hearts, other times, people or animals.

Sometimes she would decorate the shapes with delicate lemon icing, coloured sprinkles or tiny silver balls. Other times, she would leave it plain.

Sometimes, the gingerbread would be served up sweet and soft, other times a little crispy and mishapen. What she produced, seemed to reflect her mood somehow……and she liked that.

Sure, not everyone liked her gingerbread but that was fine. They were welcome to go help themselves to shortbread, chocolate brownies or whatever other culinary creations they wanted.

You can never please everyone, right?

One morning, as the little old lady was setting out the metal cookie cutters on to the counter top, beaming broadly as she did, she heard an unexpected knock at the door.

“May I help you?”

She said, surveying the stranger on her doorstep, a thin lipped, tall fellow with the glint of silver coins in his steely blue eyes.

“Well…it’s more what I can do for you…”

He replied.

Intrigued, the old lady invited him in to her humble kitchen, sat him down with a pot of tea and of course, a piece of fine, warm gingerbread, as she did with all who called upon her.

“I work as a rep for a large store in the city.”

He said.

“I’m always on the look out for new lines and I’ve heard lots about your gingerbread! It’s famous in this village! Taking a bite of this…..I can see that people are right!”

The old lady felt her heart glow inside - how she loved it when others appreciated what she made!

“So…..”

He went on.

“How would you like to make some money? Have more people know about this fine gingerbread you bake?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d like to sell your gingerbread inside our store. Imagine that! You’d be able to buy yourself a large Aga instead of this old thing you have.”

He kicked her trusty oven disrespectfully with his expensive looking polished shoe.

The little old lady thought about it for a minute. She wasn’t particularly materialistic but the thought of earning money from doing something she loved, was very appealing.

“Yes! Why not!”

She said, and without hesitation signed the contract he produced from his brief case. The two of them finished their elevenses, all as her friend the robin watched from his usual spot on the garden gate.

She told her friends, her family, and of course, the little robin. All were pleased at her good fortune. Being paid for something she loved! What luck!

A few days later, she was once again stood in her beloved kitchen when there was another knock at the door.

She opened it and there stood the same sales rep.

“I have a message from head office. They adore your gingerbread, REALLY love it as I do……but just feel it needs something extra…..maybe a pinch of cinnamon.”

“Oh!”

The old lady looked a little taken a back.

“And if we could just have it a little more uniform. Maybe all star shapes….with it coming up to Christmas. Yeah - star shapes, that would be good…..and no icing. Increases the production costs.”

“Yes…..okay”

Said the old lady meekly.

She put away her funny shaped cookie cutters of hearts and people, the one shaped like a fat little bird that resembled her friend, the robin, and instead concentrated solely on stars.

She worked so hard that week, churning out batch after batch. How beautiful the star shaped gingerbread looked! Each the same golden brown, the same depth, the same texture.

A few days later, she ventured into the city and was thrilled to see her very own gingerbread on sale. How proud she felt - and even more so when her first pay check came in!

The little old lady bought a spice rack, several shiny new baking trays and as the weeks went by, eventually, a brand new Aga. She paid her bills, treated her family, and all was well……

For a while.

Sales began to slip.

Why was that?

It was still the same gingerbread she’d baked for years.

Well….kind of.

I mean, sure, it had a little cinnamon in, and was all the same shape, but apart from that, it MUST have the same taste……right?

Confused, she asked the little robin for his opinion, he being her best ‘customer’ and always such an honest little bird.

“No”

He answered truthfully, shaking out his tail feather huffily as he did.

“There’s something missing.”

He said.

“Missing? That’s not true!”

Protested the little old lady.

“Look!”

She said, showing him the recipe her own dear Mama had passed down to her.

“It has flour, sugar, butter, syrup, spices….I’ll tell you there’s nothing missing whatsoever!”

“Tell me….”

He enquired.

“How do you feel when you make gingerbread now? I never hear you singing as gather your ingredients, never see you lick your lips as you stir….”

“Well no….. but I’m under a strict regime these days, I have to get 6 batches out in a day and if they’re even a tiny bit burned, then the store won’t take them.”

The robin tilted his head, as all birds do when they listen to humans.

“And I do miss the creativity I used to have….. deciding whether I make animal shapes or people, whether to leave plain or ice a face or a pattern….”

Her eyes lit as she said it.

“I think I know what it is!”

Said the robin.

“What’s missing from your gingerbread is LOVE. The love is missing!”

His words rang loud as the bells of St Clements in the church of her heart, the sweet and sour notes hitting every raw space inside the empty building she now was.

She had become so concerned with pleasing others - conforming to their robotic specifications and whims, she’d forgotten to please herself.  It had all become about the end product- a perfect cookie. She had detached herself from the once beautiful process - the aroma filling her kitchen, the glorious snap she heard, the golden crumbles…..

At that moment, she decided that she didn’t ever want to make gingerbread again ‘for money’.

Sure, she was happy to receive payment, but people would have to take her gingerbread EXACTLY AS IT CAME - and some days there’d be none at all!

And going forward, that’s what she did.

Some days, it was soft and spongy, sometimes a little singed, hard and disfigured but it was always appreciated by someone.

Why?

Because whatever it is in life you make, people taste it first with their heart.

So, be sure to only ever create with pure intention. The most important ingredient in everything you do, is love.