Tom's grandma started a tradition when he was one year old. Cinnamon Rolls for Thanks-giving breakfast. Homemade. To die for.Of course this tradition had to live on. Of course I took up the baton for I was the one married to the man whose taste buds and sentimentality insisted it be so. Cinnamon Rolls were as important - maybe more so - that turkey on the November Holiday.
Sometimes I balk. No one likes feeling taken for granted.
But magic happens twice when I make the things.
First, when I remove them from the oven. They smell like.....love.Second, Thanks-giving morning when each family member meanders - sleepy eyed and warm from bed - into the kitchen to select the roll for them, the smiling happen, the sniffing happens. Then - when I watch for it - each loved one gives me a quick appreciative glance. I don't know if they even know they do it, but they do.
Not that I need appreciation.
But it sure is nice!
3 comments:
I love your simple, substantive things. And nope, we're likely not climbing aboard the sophistication train any time soon. But I like those bubbles on the eggs, too, and I can smell those cinnamon rolls...yum.
Thanks, Deanna. The bubbles are way cool, aren't they? And cinnamon rolls - yup - gone. But the memory lingers.
They are great, Thank You for making them year after year
Tom
Post a Comment