TASTES LIKE CHILDHOOD . . .

My mom made the most incredible homemade cinnamon rolls . . . I can still vividly remember the smell, slightly cinnamon-y and sweet and yeasty . . . first baking in the oven, then cooling on the counter as she iced them with a glaze that melted into them perfectly.

She was a good cook, and made a lot of things really well . . . but one of the very best was her cinnamon rolls . . . Eating them was a sensory-rich treat, a delectable smorgasbord of the bread-y roll, the sweetness of the sugary filling and the plump, juicy raisins, the spicy cinnamon that made them smell heavenly and kept them from being TOO sweet . . . all topped off with the sweet icing glaze that helped to keep the rolls from drying out . . . and kept them soft and tender . . .

It was a WONDERFUL treat to come home from school, throw open the front door and have that mouth-watering aroma greet you . . . Whatever little indignities and humiliations that the day had involved . . . whatever disappointments had been encountered with friends and school assignments . . . whatever huge projects were hanging menacingly overhead . . . ALL of that was shelved for a bit and left behind in the rush to respond to the delicious homemade goodness of her cinnamon rolls . . .

Oh, she didn't make them that often, but the times that she did DO stand out in my memory . . . Savoring those rolls, in a childhood world where calories and cholesterol didn't yet exist . . . not only filled my tummy . . . they also nourished my heart and soul. I didn't have a perfect childhood (LOL . . . does any one, really?) but I knew my mom loved me unconditionally . . . and I always, always, always felt safe when she was there . . . I knew that nothing really bad could ever happen while my mom was around . . .

The other day I got SUCH a strong craving for cinnamon rolls . . . MAN . . . I could almost SMELL them . . . but I recognized that it wasn't a matter of running to the bakery and buying one . . . or cracking open a tube of pillsbury's finest to pop in the oven . . . or even digging out her old recipe and whipping up a batch . . .

What I was actually craving was that childhood memory of unconditional love . . . and safety . . . the world where nothing REALLY bad could happen, because my mom wouldn't let it . . . where I felt absolutely safe . . . and protected . . . and loved . . .

SIGH . . .

How I wish it was that easy . . . to make everything all better for the people that I love . . .

I could really use a pan of magic cinnamon rolls . . .