Early in the morning, on Thanksgiving Day, the smell of cinnamon sweet rolls wafted up the stairs, and I was instantly awake. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I pushed myself out of bed, called to my two sisters in the next room, and thundered down the stairs to the kitchen table where my mother was putting powdered sugar frosting on rolls fresh from the oven. I poured a glass of milk and hopped from one foot to the other waiting for her to plate my first roll. My sisters were also bouncing around excitedly asking when we could eat the delicious treat. For most of my growing up years, that is how is Thanksgiving Day began.
The sweet roll beginning to Thanksgiving Day was about more than food. It was about family and things being passed from one generation to the next. It was a simpler time and a well made and frosted cinnamon roll was a symbol of a life made rich by just by being together. There is something intoxicating about that memory. I have tried to recreate those rolls but they never quite taste the same.
What are the smells and memories of your Thanksgiving Day? Perhaps none were idyllic but are there memories that connect us to times and places when we could pause to enjoy a glass of milk and a sweet roll fresh from the oven? Write a story about a memory of food, or holiday, or family. Can you smell the cinnamon?