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 ?