Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Christmas Cookies in Blue

Monday, January 5, 2009

New Year, New Life, New Beginnings

The New Year is always the time to reflect,
to renew and begin again!


Isn't the new year just like
the preparation for a new baby?
Just like the frantic holiday season,
Each day is so busy with preparations
for the new life awaiting arrival.

Then that brief moment comes, as they lay that precious charge in your arms, a time for quiet reflection, for renewal.
But time speeds ahead, and
the days become twice as busy taking
care of the demands of the precious arrival.

The chores at hand seem endless,
with so much to do and so little time.
And the equal demand that each decision
made effects the life of a little one so dear....

But, each day, hour and minute is precious.
Those of us who are now grandparents
can certainly attest to how time flies by.

It seems that our babies were just born yesterday,
and were tucked into bed with a kiss
and a favorite stuffed animal.

Yet now they are independent with their lives-
having children of their own.

In keeping with the thought of new beginnings,
I thought it appropriate to post a few baby cakes
to celebrate new life and a new year!


This was my grandson, Peyton's, first baby shower cake.
He entered the world on the first week of the new year...
Two Years ago...
How time flies!

Happy New Year to one and all!

May your year sparkle with laughter and be filled with the magic of children's smiles!


Jacque Benson 2009...all rights reserved

1 comment:

  1. Jacque, you are the Fondant Master. I love all of your cakes.


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It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, —
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem, —
The summer's empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen, —
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.

~Emily Dickinson