It is Christmas again. I close my eyes and all that I could see is my mother in the kitchen baking these cookies. I am a small child again and I am allowed to help in the kitchen, gluing the cookies together with home made strawberry jam. But I am impatient, and eagerly run to the oven every few minutes to see the transformation taking place, and the small butter cookies growing tall and golden brown. It smells like butter and vanilla. It smells like Christmas.
My mother is still making these cookies home each year, but with me having settled far away from home having a taste is always a challenge. Yet, the nostalgic feeling of tasting Christmas on the tip of my tongue never fades away, on the contrary, with every year it is growing stronger. So, like a small bird intuitively compelled to travel distanced in reaching home, I bake Christmas Star Cookies and all is right and bright in the world. I am a small child and my parents far away are close by again. My loved ones are demolishing my creations eating two or three in one go, our home is full of laughter and my heart is full of joy.