Saturday evening baking

Saturday we had our "make your own pizza night." This started a couple of years ago, because, as many of you Moms know, you can't please everyone all of the time. I make the dough, and everyone gets to stretch their own pizza, and put on whatever toppings they like.

Then. . .

Our church was having a "bring your own lunch" luncheon after service on Sunday, so I made another batch of dough and made two more pizzas to take with us. I didn't get pictures of the finished products, but they were yummy!

After that, I thought about breakfast Sunday morning. Grandma's cinnamon rolls sounded good. Grandma hadn't made these for quite some time, and now she is gone, but there is a connection of some sort when I make these. I make them from time to time. . .

There is a memory, either real or conjured, that hits me when I smell the dough rising. . .I am in Grandma's kitchen, and she hands me a knife and the butter to spread out over the soft blanket of dough that has been rolled out on the counter. . .
Once they are in the oven, the memories grow stronger along with the smell of baking bread, sugar and cinnamon. . .


At last, they are done, and ready for breakfast in the morning!

I know they aren't Grandma's, but they do taste good, and once again I have held on to my history, my family and my memories.

Can you smell the memories?