One evening last week, I went to see a movie in a park with a friend.  Now that it’s the end of summer, this seemed like an especially good idea for an activity.

I looked forward to having a communal experience and taking a night off from my couch and my assortment of remotes.  Free admission, too!

After I stepped out of the little Thai place two blocks away, where I picked up carry-outs to picnic on during the flick, I started to think about getting something sweet.

Just then, I saw a sign for La Plazita, a Mexican bakery I’ve passed for years but never tried.  It occupies a space in a tiny strip mall. I guess its name translates into the little square.

I could just get a few cookies, I thought.  That would go wonderfully after some larp chicken and lad nar.

The place smelled mildly yeasty and the lighting was quiet and natural, not like the aggressive fluorescents at grocery stores.  I could see a few people in the back room, squeezing white pastry bags, dispensing turquoise and other colorful frostings on top of cupcakes.

Long breads and rolls for sandwiches filled metal racks near the middle of the room.  Under the register was a glass case with fancy decorated cakes.

All along the perimeter were shelved cabinets that housed muffins and sweet empanadas and turnovers and various doughy confections. As it was already late in the day, some trays were nearly empty.  But there seemed to be a good assortment of cookies left.

I panicked for a moment, unsure how I was supposed to pick out what I wanted. Then I was directed to a table with a basket of tongs and a collection of round metal trays the size of a small pizza.

I was to pick out the individual sweets I wanted with the tongs, place them on the tray and then bring what I’ve picked out to the register.

They placed my purchases in a small paper bag, and I brought my treats, along with my order from Thai Valley, to the outdoor movie venue.  They were perfect; not too sweet, easy to break off in chunks and share.

I had to shake off a collection of crumbs from my jeans as I folded up my blanket after the movie.  I’ve been back to La Plazita once since, earlier in the day when I expected a wider selection.  I tried their pan de jengibre, gingerbread.

And I’ve been thinking about the expression, That’s the way the cookie crumbles, ever since.

Trying a new bakery, like trying anything new, is a risk.  You don’t want to be disappointed.  You want to please anyone you share the experience with.  And risks should not be taken lightly…

But they should be looked at proportionately, reasonably.  Without fear of being disappointed.

I think of all the times I might simply pick up something at Trader Joe’s or at another chain store because I know what to expect.…  And there’s nothing wrong with the convenience of one-stop shopping.

But fear of being disappointed should never overshadow or outweigh a chance to be DELIGHTED.

What if my friend and I didn’t like the butter cookies.  What’s the worst thing that could happen?

We would learn more about what we liked. That’s a good thing.

I’ve been disappointed in all range of things. I have probably avoided some types of experiences to avoid disappointment.  I want to remind myself that trying new things is usually worth the risk.

Supposedly, the expression, That’s the way the cookie crumbles has been around since the fifties. It is believed to be a reference to the Italian phrase, Cosi v’al mondo, such is life. 

Life is rife with things that go as planned and things that fall apart.  Every possibility and variation in outcome can lead to a worthwhile experience.

Finding enjoyment in a cookie’s crumbs as well as in the perfectly golden butter-kissed edges is no small thing.