This afternoon, I made the boys some cinnamon toast. It was a cold, grey, drizzly winter afternoon and it was cool in the house when I brought them downstairs, sleepy still and grumpy. I got the fire going, made some tea and put a few slices of bread in the toaster. Then I let Sawyer help me with the butter, cinnamon and sugar. They perked up immediately. Because who doesn't love cinnamon toast, right?
Whenever I make it, I think of my grandma. I will never forget the afternoon I was visiting at her house. I was in university and looking to the future, dreaming of getting my own apartment. "Just remember this," she said. "Some days people will pop by unexpected. And you have to offer them a cup of tea and something to eat." She said this as she was pouring me a cup of tea at her kitchen table. "That's true," I replied. "But what if you haven't got any cookies or baking to go with the tea?" she said. "Easy! I'll tell you what you do. You make them cinnamon toast. Everyone loves cinnamon toast."
She's right. It is simple, and delicious, and I always have the necessary ingredients to whip some up. I'm not sure I've ever made cinnamon toast when an unexpected guest has turned up though. But I'm glad she gave me that advice anyway. I'm glad because it helps me to remember her, vividly. So always, always, when the bread comes out, she comes to my mind. As we sat on the couch this afternoon, eating our cinnamon toast by the fire, I thought of her and wished that she was with us. And I guess, in a way, she was.