Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Smells and Tastes of Childhood

As adults, many times we encounter smells and tastes of our childhood. One of my most recents encounters was during my baking on Thanksgiving. I decided to undertake the task of making homemade cinnamon rolls. As I worked the dough, kneading, punching, pulling, squiwishing, pushing, well you should know the routine if you bake bread. I returned in my mind the days when as a child, my mom made dough up and she made several different things from it. Cinnamon rolls, rolls, and even enough for a loaf of fresh baked bread too, would all come from that one big bowl of dough she sat on top of the kitchen cabinet to rise. In the winter with the old drafty house we lived in, the heat always went to the ceiling, and didn't come back down, so the dough sat on top of the wall cabinets.
As I worked and mixed, the smell of the yeast brought back memories of, oh, so many years ago. In the oven, I watched, as a child watches for Daddy to come home from work at night, the cinnamon rolls bake through the oven door. Then after hours of preparation, the first taste of that cinnamon roll, the melt in your mouth buttery flavored cinnamon zing, made my eyes close and transported me back to the age of 9 at least.
My mom would have been proud that I carried on at least this one tradition of hers. Baking. She could make most anything with few ingrediants. Unfortunatly, my children didn't follow in my foot steps, the joy of cooking. I pray that someday they too, will smell or taste something and remember the love I put into making meals and goodies for them as children.

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In my Attic

What you are about to read is things from my life in the real world as well as thoughts from my attic.
Attic: Storage space at the top of my head.
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