The CrEative Pre-Baked Gingerbread House Project > Page 2 of 2

Propped-up walls and roof of Chris's gingerbread house (notice the icing-glued crack). This is the last known picture of the house, and approximation of its completeness, before its two occupants succumbed to their crunchy demise.

The CrEative Pre-Baked Gingerbread House Project Story

(…or, “Yes, I ate the whole house!”)

By Chris Dunmire, CoachingYourCreativity.com

(continued from page 1)

Hazy Cookie Dust Memories

Taking my gingerbread project home to finish seemed good in theory, only that’s not exactly what happened once I got it there. The structure transported fine in the trunk of my car, securely Pam-wrapped in a mom-quilt, floating on air. I resumed the project on my own a day later, but it quickly spiraled into an out-of-control crazed cookie sugar manic high of wall-crumbling proportions. I can’t even be 100% sure what happened because there’s no pictures to prove anything. But I’ll do my best to finish this story…

Pam sent me home with one bag of ready-mixed icing meant for decorating the roof of my gingerbread house. So after clearing some workspace on my dining room table, I retrieved the cold icing from the refrigerator and sat down with the intention of finishing the project. The GIANT kit box, bags of colored candies, decorative icing tips, step-by-step instructions, and two gingerbread people circled me in creative communion as I applied icing to the roof in decorator’s glee.

I made squiggles and squaggles, butter-knifed waves, and icicle drippings. I had calming thoughts of my Zen Garden as I combed the icing, spreading it evenly across the cookie roof. Bliss.......

Suddenly, I snapped out of creative immersion, and a hungry/tired thought creeped into my consciousness. “Boy, this is a lot of work.”

Then I looked over at the wounded/not wounded cookie pair.

“I could easily make less decorating work by getting rid of those.”

And like the fox in the Gingerbread Man story, my snoot somehow snapped and one cookie was gone.

“Can’t leave just one witness person. They’ll be lonely in the house.”

I kid you not — even though that remaining cookie had no eyes or mouth, it started moving like it wanted to hop off my table and break out in song:

“Run, run, as fast as you can,
You can't catch me,
I'm the Gingerbread Man!”

Poor, poor cookie. Even in its non-wounded wholeness it couldn’t get away fast enough.

Safe to Eat?

I know what you're thinking, but I read everything on the Wilton box twice and there’s nothing about “not” eating the contents of the gingerbread house kit. Besides, the nutritional information cemented its safeness for me. Let’s just say that after waiting long enough to see if I’d feel sick from eating the gingerbread people (and being fine), I knew that eating the rest of the house would give me more pleasure than if I labored over finishing it (it was so tasty!).

Besides, with my predisposition for perfectionism, I was already set up for failure (self-sabotage!). My roof was broken, my seams were split, and my cookie people were long gone.

(Folks, this is what I like to call creative rationalization and following a non-linear path on a project [we creatives are so good at this]. One of the reasons Daniel Pink knows “why right-brainers will rule the future” is because, he too, has eaten cookie projects mid-construction. Creativity is as creativity does. [Don’t cite me on that.])

So, like a wrecking ball, I proceeded to demolish the gingerbread house and put the shattered chunks of its partly-iced walls and roof in a Zip-loc bag to eat at my leisure over the next few days week. Honestly, breaking it down wasn’t difficult at all. It was actually a relief. The hard part was telling Pam what I’d done.

“So how’s the gingerbread house building going?” She’d ask in e-mail.

“I’m enjoying it very much!” I’d reply, licking cookie crumbs off my lips.

Actually, I confessed to Pam right away. Eating shards of gingerbread roofing and walls with caked-on icing is much easier with a clear conscience. I grew to crave that gingerbread. My only regret is I can't claim “No cookie people were harmed in this project.”

Pam finished her gingerbread house — beautifully (see the photo?). And since I never used any of my candy, I gave it to her to use, which made her project even more sweet. Afterwards, she sent me pictures (of what I too, could have done) and kept the house in a special room for months to show off to children, nieces and nephews.

It's been a year since our Gingerbread House Project adventure, and I'm pretty sure Pam has forgiven me for abandoning her mid-project and eating my house before I saw its completion through. The reason I think so is she invited me over to learn how to make rolled-and-cut sugar cookies in the shapes of stars, buffaloes, and snowmen last week.

"So, Pam, you wanna make gingerbread houses again?"

"No!"

So I’m a louse on the gingerbread house. But I still smile like a fox. Yum! •

© 2009 Chris Dunmire, CoachingYourCreativity.com. All rights reserved. (12/19/09). Please do not duplicate this article elsewhere without my permission.

About the Author
Chris Dunmire is the author of the Dollar Bill Origami Money Plant and driving force behind the popular Creativity Portal Web site. She finds meaning as an artist, humorist, and creativity coach and channels her overactive imagination into multiple containers on display at ChrisDunmire.com.