Somewhere In Between
It couldn't be more perfect. The
morning air was filled with the
smell of fresh baked cinnamon rolls.
They are legendary in this home.
Oh, not the ones that come in a can.
The ones that grandmother creates.
They take much longer, but they
wouldn't want it any other way.
When they visit her, they sleep in
a little later. Not so much because
they are tired from the trip. They
only live a few hours away.
They really don't need to sleep over,
either, but they do for all the right
reasons.
It's home. You don't just visit home.
You return to it. You re-live it.
You soak in the smells of early morning
yeast dough and cinnamon. You roll over
in the thought of sweet cream icing
dripping off your chin.
You stay in bed just a little longer
so you can hear the sounds of home
once more.
The clanking of the pans, the sound
of the rolling pin, the thump of the
oven door as it closes and the signal
that makes you jump to your feet...
the baking sheet sliding off the
rack...you're home.
Mom and dad rush to get the children up.
Running down the hallway they pause for
moment to inhale the smell of fresh
coffee. Not just any coffee. This coffee
is created in the same old percolator
that grandmother has used since grandfather
and she were married.
"It still works better than those new things
they sell," she would be quick to tell you.
Everyone now gathered around the kitchen table,
they settle into a quiet almost trance-like
existence. Everyone's eyes are now fixed on
grandmother. Eight eyes follow each cinnamon
roll as they are placed on the plate in front
of them. You don't dive into it. You savor the
moment as you watch the icing slowly melt down
the sides.
By now your mind has already consumed it, but
your belly cries out with a rumble..."I
can't wait any longer!"
"This is heavenly," mother says.
"You are an angel," father adds.
Then, from the smallest child comes the biggest
question.
"Grandmother, when you go to heaven can we still
visit?" the child asks.
Grandmother takes her place at the head of the
table, picks up her fork and says, "I will visit
you."
"How?" the child asks.
Grandmother takes her first bite of the cinnamon
roll, places the fork back down and leans toward
the child.
Smiling, she places her finger on the child's heart
and says, "I'll be right here. Somewhere in between."
Who says you can't go home?
"I believe in You!"
J
~ Bob Perks ~
[ by: Bob Perks
Copyright © 2009 (2believe@comcast.net) -- {used with permission} ]
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