Love...on a baking sheet

I could smell the orange rolls even before she opened the door. She greeted us with a smile and a hug and led us into her kitchen. A baking sheet sat in the center of the table. An entire baking sheet of warm, orange rolls. Perfect bow knot-yeast rolls, drizzled with orange glaze. Her specialty.

The kids and I eagerly sat around the table. (There may have been a little drooling.)

"The entire sheet is for you," she said. Then as we began to eat, she got out glasses and poured cold milk.

You know how I feel about food and love. Here it was, an entire baking sheet of love.

I ate three. Yes, three! And I licked my fingers.

Oh, how I will miss these orange rolls for the next two years (I just have NOT mastered the yeast roll technique). But, I will miss the baker so much more.

I know today was part of a goodbye, though neither of us wanted to talk about it. So instead we looked at pictures of Jakarta's hazy skyline. We laughed at CJ's antics. And I used her computer to send photos to Costco. It was like every other wonderful moment I've spent in her kitchen.

There is a rare moment in a friendship when the lines between friend and family become blurred. For me, the moment occurs when I no longer clean my house for their arrival. And this friend has seen it all. She's seen the breakfast dishes on my kitchen table at three o'clock in the afternoon. She's seen not only the dust and messes of my closets, but all the skeletons too. She's seen me at my worst and loved me anyway. We've laughed together, cried together, cleaned together, traveled to NYC together (twice!!), run together, and shared delicious meals together over the past seven years.

I tried not to think about any of this as we sat in her kitchen. It would have made me too sad to leave. So instead, I enjoyed the comfort of absolute familiarity. And I breathed deeply, inhaling the delicious citrus scent.