She Shares Truth: Jonah 1&2

Hello friends,  first of all, let me apologize for falling off the face of the earth, but when you move, and get a new job, and your best childhood friend gets engaged all at the same time, suddenly people and life become a little more important than the internet.

But, I'm back now, and hoping to continue somewhat consistent posting on here.  We shall see what happens.  As a kick-start, I'm bringing in a new Friday tradition.  (I've enjoyed High Five for Friday, and it may return, but for the meantime, I'm thrilled about this new link-up!)

Back in January, I joined a fantastic online community called She Reads Truth.  I cannot begin to tell you what a blessing this little space has been in my life - it is so loving and uplifting!  About two weeks ago (conveniently coinciding with the new job, my aunt's wedding, and the afore-mentioned engagement and ensuing dress-shopping/planning flurry), She Reads Truth started a new thing called She Shares Truth.  Basically, every Monday, we are assigned certain scripture to reflect on over the week, and write about on Friday.

Friends, I'm a writer.  Can you imagine my joy at hearing about this new plan?  Honestly, I hope it stays forever.  Obviously, I've already missed out on two weeks worth of writing, but that doesn't dampen my excitement about it by any means.  I'm thrilled to be able to join in today!

Currently, we're reading (and sharing) about Jonah.  Yep. you heard that right.
I'm sure I've read through Jonah in my adulthood, but I've certainly never paid attention to it as an adult.  I mean, really, it's a story about a man who gets swallowed by a fish and then regurgitated three days later.  Good material for Sunday School, and keeping the kids' attention, but not really that important for my spiritual journey now... Or so I thought

Our study basically started out with this sentence: "It's not about the fish."
So true.
It is not about the fish.  Did you know there are only three verses in Jonah that even talk about "the fish"?  This is actually a story about a man who thought he could out-smart God, and had to learn his lesson multiple times. (One of those times just happened to involve a fish swallowing him - minor details, really.)
Sound familiar?  Oh yeah.  Only like what I've been doing for years...

The thing that really struck me in my reading through Jonah 1&2 (and which I remember noticing as a child, too) is that the sailors cast lots to find out whose fault it is that they have this giant storm on their hands, and the lot happens to fall on Jonah. Hmmmmmm.

Casting lots was a pretty common form of divination, as well as a way to make a fair selection for any job that nobody (or everybody) wanted to do.  It was not only prevalent in Israel.  This was a widely known practice throughout ancient cultures.  It was similar (in principle, not necessarily in practice) to drawing straws.

Now, in summary, so far, Jonah has made a decision to "get away from the presence of the Lord," and boarded a ship going as far West as he can go.  This sort of makes me wonder if he is at all familiar with Psalm 139:7&8...
Maybe that was after his time.  I'm not entirely sure where Jonah falls chronologically.

So Jonah thinks he's gotten away, then a huge storm comes, and the sailors cast lots, etc.

You guys.  I'm pretty sure that lot-falling-on-Jonah thing was not accidental, or luck, or what-have-you.  God came right down and put that lot exactly where he wanted it.

Yeah, Jonah.  You thought you could get away from ME?  Well, here I am, in the middle of a storm, on a boat which is swaying and tossing on the waves like crazy, totally in control of not only the storm and the boat, but even this lot-casting.

In my Study Bible, there are a lot of C.S. Lewis quotes sprinkled about, and one of them in Jonah (which he wrote regarding Jonah) says this - "We misread much of the Old Testament because we start with the assumption that its sacred character excludes humour."

Honestly, though, the whole situation Jonah got himself into must have been kind of comical to God, don't you think?  I can imagine God shaking his head and chuckling, knowing how this is going to turn out, thinking "Really, Jonah?  You're really going to make me throw you into a fish before you learn that you can't get away, because I am everywhere, not just in Israel?"

It's comical to me, until I start realizing how many times God has probably had that same inner dialogue about me and my stubborn will.  I can assure you that it's been more times than appear in the book of Jonah.  I am so grateful, though that, no matter what sort of predicament I will myself into, He is still in control and will provide a way out for me, even if I seem to be drowned in a storm at sea.

Reviving a Lost Art

I've always been a letter-writer.  Really, I've just always been a writer, and letters were one of many ways that the writer inside of me chose to manifest herself.

Of course, some seasons of life lend themselves to letter writing, and some don't.  Lately, I've been a terrible correspondent.  Every time I receive a letter or card, I file it away to respond to it.  All the cards I need to respond to are in plain sight, but, unfortunately they've just been piling up lately.  Finally, in the midst of my move, I decided enough was enough, and these dear friends were all valuable enough to me to warrant a good size slice of an afternoon spent writing to them.

Turns out there are more than just one afternoon's worth of folks to write.  But, you know what?  I'm not sad about that.

There was something so lovely about sitting in a patch of sun in the living room, surrounded by the tools of my trade (paper and pen, of course), with a big mug of tea on the table next to me.


I don't know exactly what is happening to me, but this Longhorn mug is seriously my favorite right now...

I frequently ask for stationery as a Christmas or Birthday gift.  Through that habit, I've built up quite the collection.  I love being able to always choose just exactly the paper I think a friend would like, and writing them a letter on it.



When I was in high school, I went to a little leadership seminar thing, and met a friend who was just as excited about writing letters as I was.  We exchanged addresses, and the first letter he wrote me was addressed to Queen Esther.  By then, that was such an old joke, so I addressed his to the Prime Minister.  We spent a few years shooting letters back and forth to people like the Dali Lhama, etc.

When I was about 16, some dear friends moved to Indiana, and we wrote letters back and forth addressed to Jane Austen and Shakespeare characters.

Sometimes I wonder why we lose that sort of frivolity when we become adults.  Why don't I ever send a letter to Colonel Brandon or the Overseer of the Board of Regents?



Why shouldn't we have a little foolishness in our lives?  I mean, really.  I have a Nancy Drew themed address book, for goodness' sake.  Yes, the cover is the cover of Nancy's Mysterious Letter, which also happens to be my favorite Nancy Drew book...

I guess the point of all this rambling is that I miss writing to people, and I hadn't even realized I missed it until I started again.

The season of life that I'm in right now has lent itself very nicely to loving on old friends via the written word (whether that be Facebook messages, emails, or letters) and I am thoroughly enjoying it!



Would you like to be pen pals?  Send me your address, and I'll write you a letter!
I am being totally serious here.

That time I went to New York and back in 10 days.

If you follow me on Instagram, this trip is old news (It happened in November).
However, if you follow me on Instagram, you didn't get the whole scoop or all the pictures, so here is (in the words of Paul Harvey) "the rest of the story."

As I've mentioned in the past, my dad did the same thing for all of my growing up years, then changed careers just recently.  I really can't remember a time when I didn't have a pretty solid idea of what he was doing at any given point in a day, even if he was far away.
Our family was always very close, and having a good idea of what Dad was up to at work helped to tighten that bond, I think.

Then he threw us all for a loop, and decided to become a truck driver - an over-the-road truck driver, no less.  That means he could be anywhere in the U.S. at any given time. (Within the first six months or so of his career, he had been in 47 of the 48 Continental United States!)
Not to mention that he was now driving an 18-wheeler, and hauling who knows what (anything from copper wire to New York City's trash - literally).

I hadn't expected this, but it felt downright strange to not know what he was doing day in and day out.

So, of course, when the opportunity arose, I jumped on his truck with him to find out.



Oh, did I mention that I stayed on that truck with him for 10 days?

Do you see the size of that cab, ladies and gentlemen?

Let me just say, I have a hero in disguise as a dad.  That wonderful man slept on a mattress topper (not a mattress - just a topper!) on the floor for 10 nights so I could have the bed, bought me coffee every morning (I'd brought a coffee maker and coffee with me, but it turned out his power converter wouldn't support the amount of amps or something required by my coffee maker), and generally treated me like a princess.

We had a fantastic time, just driving down the road, sometimes talking, sometimes listening to music (his good old southern rock that Mom doesn't really listen to, some folksy stuff, and my Needtobreathe and Coldplay), and sometimes enjoying silence and pointing out interesting things along the road to each other:


"Look, Es" he said, "it's a coffee truck!"
And "Man, those poor horses without the blankets sure must feel discriminated against..."

Dad is a "moderator" on a truck-driving forum for new truckers, or people who are interested in getting into the career, and it just so happened that he had committed to write a "journal" of his time on the road that coincided with our time together.  He really enjoyed having me along as a "photographer" to record various parts of his job that he could share on the forum.  I had fun helping him understand a little more about blogging/getting photos on his blog and the forum.



As a flat-bed driver, as opposed to a dry-van driver, Dad has the responsibility of securing his own loads.  He says this is one of his favorite parts of the job as it keeps him active.  From what I've observed, this love for securement is pretty rare among truck-drivers.  It totally makes sense to me that he would love it, though.  There's a certain satisfaction that comes from doing something yourself and knowing that it's done right.
Every once in a while, I'd help him with securing one of the loads (and, of course, he went back over everything I did to make sure it was correct) and it was pretty cool to know that I'd had a little part in making sure that load stayed on the back of his truck through wind, snow, and high speeds.



Our first stop on this crazy journey was in Vidor, Texas, where we picked up a load of steel coils headed for Cincinnati, Ohio.
(Cincinnati, by the way, is one of the few words that I can NEVER remember how to spell...)

We spent the weekend at a truck stop on the border of Kentucky and Ohio.
That was quite the experience.  A truck stop is like it's own little world.  It was actually much cleaner and pleasanter than I expected it to be.  Our weekend consisted mainly of doing laundry in the truck stop, watching movies in the truck, and taking lots of walks to enjoy the Fall foliage.





When Dad stopped in Cincinnati to unload, I was still asleep.  I woke up and looked out the window to find this charming old brick building with various international flags hung along the roofline and a beautiful Holly full of red berries.



After this stop, we headed across the border into rural Southern Indiana to pick up some sheetrock bound for Syracuse, New York.

While driving through Indiana, we saw lots of these lovely, bare, almost wraith-like, white trees - Sycamores, right, Indiana friends?



On our way to New York, we started seeing a bit of snow.  I was so impressed at the way they know how to maintain roads in the North! (In Texas, or the South in general, I guess, everything would have been closed for even this tiny amount of snow.)



Now, before we go any further, let me acknowledge that these are not really the quality of photos you are used to seeing on this blog, but please keep in mind, I'm taking a lot of these through the windows of a truck moving at approximately 65 MPH...

This particular day was a long, long, long one.  By the end of it, we had dropped off one load, and were picking up the next at about 11 PM.  I was sitting in the truck and feeling very sleepy, and possibly a bit delirious if I'm honest.  I looked out of the windshield and saw this little fork-lift staring right at me:


I may or may not have taken way too much time trying to decide if he was friendly or not...

I was so tired that I decided to sleep in the next morning while Dad got on the road, but he wisely woke me up, knowing I would want to take pictures of the snow-covered houses in this precious little town that we drove through.



Let's just be honest and say that I was FREAKING OUT the entire time I was taking these pictures, because this was The Most Snow I'd Ever Seen.
I know.  I'm a little bit pitiful...

I don't remember the name of this town, but I remember thinking how really it wasn't that much different than being in the South.  That house looks like it could be my next door neighbor's, in fact.

Well, that thought quickly changed when we made a stop in Walmart.

We walked into this New York state Walmart like the normal Southerners that we are, me chattering to Dad about something and him laughing at something funny I said, and slowly it dawned on me that no one, NO ONE, else in this store was talking.
No one smiled back at us as we passed them in the aisles.
Someone looked at me like I might be an alien when I said "excuse me" because I had to walk in between them and the shelf they were perusing.
Everyone just kind of walked around in their own little worlds and totally ignored each other.

You guys.  That was one of the weirdest experiences I've ever had.  Come to think of it, I have a long list of weird experiences in Walmart, and I guess we can just go ahead and add this one to it.  Maybe I should just never go to Walmart again?  It always seems to unnerve me.

I have to admit that I was a little sad we ended up in New York and I didn't even get a chance the see The City.  Honestly, though, I wasn't too sad.
Seeing New York City has never been on my bucket list.
I mean, I always figured if I was ever anywhere near it, I would at least look at it a little bit...
But who am I kidding?  I was more than comforted by those adorable snow-covered houses, and the best peppermint mocha ever (Trust me.  I'm a peppermint mocha connoisseur.) - at a random little chain in a rest stop!

You did good, New York.

That load we picked up in the middle of the night was headed down to Alabama, so I bid the snow goodbye a little sadly, and we headed back the way we'd come - through Cincinnati.  On our way there, we saw the most fantastic sunset graced with an "airplane spaghetti bowl" as Dad said.



I'd kind of wanted to photograph Downtown Cincinnati (it was the only city we drove through - we skirted around all the rest), but it was dark by the time we got there.  I got one semi-good shot, but that was it.



Dad warned me before we got into the city to be prepared for a tunnel.  In other words, he told me I should have my camera ready.  Unfortunately, I was too busy trying to get night skyline pictures to really prepare my camera for the tunnel, so all in all, it wasn't the most rewarding night for the little perfectionistic photographer that hides inside of me...

It was lovely going through that tunnel, though.  Tunnels always make me think of my Pop.  I don't have too many clear, specific memories of him.  I have lots of everyday knowledge, but as far as particular memories outside the norm, I only have a few.  One, though, involves the tunnel that crossed the Ship Channel in Houston before the Fred Hartman Bridge was built.  I think of him every time I go through a tunnel now, because of that one memory.



At our stop in Alabama, I sat in the truck and knitted.  I did, however, take a moment to enjoy the lovely fall foliage that was beginning to appear here in the South.



After that stop, we wound our way home through the Smoky Mountains.
Now, the Smoky Mountains are another thing that I have never had any great desire to see.
I know, I know.  I'm probably crazy.  But, honestly?  Mountains just aren't my thing.  Give me an ocean and a coastline, and I will sit and stare and take it in all day.

I was pleasantly surprised by the Smoky Mountains, though.  They really were "smoky" - sort of veiled in a constant blue haze - and so peaceful.  I did take pictures, but none of them turned out very well (65 MPH, remember?).  So, mostly, I just sat back and enjoyed the scenery.

When I saw these bridges coming up, though, you can bet I whipped out my camera and took as many pictures as I could, hoping I'd get at least one good one.



There's just something I really love about bridges.  I probably wouldn't make any sense if I tried to explain it.






Sometimes there are just things that you love for no good reason.

I have to admit, by the time we got home, I was really grateful to be back in Texas and on solid ground.  A tiny part of me had gone on this adventure thinking how crazy cool it would be if I could team-drive with Dad, so I'd been analyzing whether this would be a good idea or not.

Hey.

I know you're laughing right now, so I'll just give you a minute to laugh.

There.  Are you back with me?  I am being perfectly serious here.  From about the time I was 18, I've had secret thoughts that I might enjoy the truck-driving life - exploring all over the country, and seeing the sights.  However, the fact is, I'm a girly girl, and ten days out on the road was enough to convince me that, no matter how pleasant and clean they are, I don't want to spend any majority of my time taking truck stop showers.  Nor do I want to be always getting my hands dirty doing load securement.
I'll stick with my pencil skirts and phone etiquette, thank you.

Another thing?  It was so hard to drive past these three things and not beg Dad to stop.


Clockwise from left:
1. Poplar Avenue - the road in Memphis that Mom travelled down every year of her childhood to visit her Grandmother
2. Elizabethtown and 61 - Need I say more? (It's one of my favorite movies.)
3. Niagara Falls - I  WAS THAT CLOSE TO NIAGARA FALLS AND DIDN'T GET TO SEE IT!

I cannot imagine all the other things around the U.S. that I would get this close to and just miss.
For a short jaunt, I was fine - quite happy, in fact - but I now know for sure that truck driving is not the life for me.

I have to say, though, it was the best decision to go with Dad and learn more about what he does.  I feel so much more educated now about his daily life, and, just the other day, he was able to call me and tell me that he'd stopped in a spot that I remembered from our trip.  How wonderful is that?!

High Five for Friday #3

This has been quite the week.

1. On Saturday, I made my way home to Nacogdoches for good.  Yep, I moved again.  Is anybody really surprised by this?
I haven't move my furniture yet, but most of the rest of my things were crammed into my poor little car, which kept freaking out about my passenger (which happened to be a big box of kitchen gadgets) was not buckled in. The. Whole. Way. There.

At least I know it won't ever give up reminding people to buckle up?

2. As many of you know, Sunday was the Super Bowl. Being a member of a family with all Ballerina daughters (one of us tried organized sports for a year or two, then decided it wasn't her thing), we don't get particularly excited about watching professional sports on TV.  My dad isn't even into that, although he has been known to watch Tennis for hours on end...

High school football, on the other hand? Yeah, we are Texans after all.

Anyway, once upon a time, many Super Bowls ago, all of us girls (not even knowing what Super Bowl Sunday was, much less that it was that very day) asked Dad to rent Mary Poppins from Blockbuster for us.  Being the wonderful father that he is, he went right up there and got it for us.
The college guy at the counter took one look at the movie in the case and one look at my bearded Scotch-Irish father, and initiated this conversation:

College Guy:  You do know this is Mary Poppins, right?
Dad: Yes.
College Guy:  You do know the Super Bowl is today, right?
Dad: Yes.
College Guy: Blank Stare..........
Dad:  My daughters wanted to watch Mary Poppins.
College Guy (with the best intentions, I'm sure):  Do you want to come over to my house?
Dad:  No.  I want to watch Mary Poppins with my girls.

And thus began one of my favorite family traditions:  Our Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Party, which just happens to coincide with everyone else's Super Bowl Parties.

3. I found this yesterday and could not stop laughing all day.

4. Last night I went to a house concert of Jason Harrod.  I really wish I'd thought to document this in some way, but I was so enjoying myself that I didn't even pull out my camera.  I realized later that I might should have invited some old Nac friends along, but there was something so wonderful about just sitting in the third row on my own.  It was so lovely to just sit and watch and listen to a truly talented man who actually supports himself through his art.

5.  Also last night, I started the "Oil Cleansing Method" for washing my face.  I won't even post a link here, because if you just google it, you will find lots of results.  I researched it for an embarrassingly long amount of time.  The summary of what I found out is this:
Supposedly (though I don't remember it), in High School Chemistry, we all learned that "like dissolves like," therefore, oil dissolves oil, so you should be able to wash your face clean with oil.  There are some oils you don't want to use, and it sounds like it takes some experimenting to get just the right blend for your skin.

I'm interested to see how this turns out.  Maybe there will be a blog post about it soon?

On another note, I've been missing real pictures around here, and I am happy to report to you that they will be returning very soon!
I'm hoping my successful 8-posts-in-January accomplishment is an indication that this blog will have a little more life in it this coming year.

Rambling

Today I went to Goodwill and dropped off some old clothes that have been riding around in my car, waiting to be donated, for way too long.

Everyone there was so friendly and smiling and grateful for the donations, and the sun was shining, and the helpful gentleman who took the donations from me asked if I wanted a tax exempt receipt.

He asked if I wanted a tax-exempt receipt for my old broken laundry hamper full of clothes that I don't wear anymore.  I looked at it, looked at him, and shook my head.  He was really doing me a favor - helping me streamline and organize my life a bit more by taking those old things off my hands.

His question stayed with me for a little while, though.
Why in the world does donating my old clothes merit a break in my taxes?

Sometimes I'm so confused by this whole being-an-adult thing.  Was it fiscally irresponsible and silly of me to not get a tax exempt receipt, or whatever-it-was he asked me about?
He looked at me in a funny way and said thanks a little more sincerely than before when I said no.
Do people donate clothes just to get a break in their taxes and he was surprised by my lack of this particular motive?

Really, guys.  I shouldn't have thought about it for that long, but sometimes, I just get to wondering, and can't stop.

Honestly, sometimes I have to convince myself that I'm an adult.  I really feel like I'm just pretending most of the time, and it makes me laugh to think of all the "adults" I looked at when I was a young teenager.  I though they were all so calm and had everything figured out.

Spoiler Alert:  They probably didn't.
The things I thought meant "adulthood" really now screen bigger thoughts than my little head could have encompassed then:

Yes, I have a set of jingley keys and a car, but I had no idea that meant I would feel such intense terror when it looked like that 18-wheeler was not going to yield to me while I had someone else's daughter in my passenger seat.

Yes, I have a closet full of clothes I've chosen for myself, and a kitchen full of awesome gadgets, but I had no idea of the fierce inner struggle with materialism that these things would introduce in my life.

Yes, I have young girls who look up to me as I looked up to some beautiful women when I was younger.
I had no idea how unworthy I would feel of their regard.
I had no idea how burdened I would feel for their hurts, small though they may seem.

I had no idea how incredibly honored I would feel to hold their hearts, and listen to their sweetest dreams.

Maybe I won't ever know whether or not I should ask for a tax thing of some sort or other when I donate my clothes, much less how to use it to my advantage.  Maybe I'll never stop fearing the possibility of idiocy in traffic going 70 mph.  Maybe I'll never come to terms with this materialistic world in which I reside as an alien and a stranger.

I would like to think that I can overcome those things, but you know what?  I might not.

I hope, though, that I won't ever feel worthy of the hearts that choose to entrust themselves to my care.
I hope I'll never feel callous to those burdens they ask me to help them carry.

That's the the true North - the one thing I am confident of in my adulthood - I must love and be loved, and let my heart break for those whose hearts are broken, and rejoice with those who rejoice til it feels like my heart will burst with the fullness of it all.
The rest is just extra fluff.

Recipe: Cinnamon Rolls

Well, my friends, what better time to post a recipe for cinnamon rolls than at the beginning of the year when I'm not eating sugar?

Yeah.

A few days ago, I was looking over my instagram profile...
(Wait, am I the only one that does this?  Does this make me vain?  Yikes!)
Here's the thing, I look over my instagram profile to remind me of all the lovely things that have happened lately, because that's exactly what I post - lovely little things in my life.

Anyway, as I was looking back over it, I found that picture of the cinnamon rolls I made for my family after Christmas.  A friend had commented on it wanting the recipe, and I had responded to her that it would be on my blog soon.

I have a set of "process" pictures (which I've generally felt are required material in a recipe post) for this recipe that I decided I would post with it on my blog.
Well, turns out those are on the old computer, which I'm just not dealing with right now for many reasons.

I was sorely tempted to wait to post this recipe until I found some way to get those pictures, but I'm just going to bite the bullet and post it, then add pictures later...

Now that I've started out with an incredibly long preface, let me add to it still more.  These cinnamon rolls hold a special place in my heart.
Well, let's face it, all cinnamon rolls hold a special place in my heart.
But these?  They mean summers at camp, they mean afternoon snacks with Lisa and Kara, they mean Sunday morning breakfast with Jennie before church, and so many other things.

Presenting Cinnamon Rolls, Tejas Syle:

Ingredients

• 3 c. Biscuit mix
• 1 c. Milk
• 1/2 c. Butter, melted
• 1 tsp. Cinnamon & 1/2 c. granulated sugar, or packed brown sugar, mixed together

Steps

1.  Using a spoon, stir biscuit mix together with milk just until a ball begins to form. 

2.  Spoon dough onto a floured board.

3.  Kneed about 5-6 times, using extra dry mix as needed to prevent sticking to board or hands.

4.  Using a rolling pin, roll dough out to form a rectangle approximately 10” x  8”. (If you're anything like me, you'll pull out a ruler and measure it, thereby making your genius chef of a Dad crack up...)

5.  Brush with melted butter.  You may not need to use all of the butter, but do be generous with it.  (Not being a butter eater* myself, I always underestimate the amount I should use, and my cinnamon sugar falls out of the roll as I'm transferring it to bake - no bueno.)

6.  Sprinkle with sugar cinnamon mixture.

7.  Roll lengthwise…make roll snug.  Make it VERY snug.  You'll think you have it snug enough, but it needs to be even snugger, I promise.

8.  Cut roll into 1” wide slices then place slices on a greased cookie sheet.  Two things need to be mentioned here:

The best way to cut any sort of roll like this is with floss.  If you don't know how to do that, youtube it.  It will change your life, I promise.

Personally, I always make these cinnamon rolls on a pizza stone without greasing it, but you can use a cookie sheet if you really want to, I guess.

9.  Bake at 350 degrees until moderately brown lightly golden (I like gooey cinnamon rolls).  Time depends entirely on your oven and your taste.  I'd say set your timer for a little less than the time on the biscuit mix box, then monitor the oven.  I don't remember exactly how long they took last time I made them, but it was longer than I estimated.  If you want less gooey, "moderately brown" cinnamon rolls, just make sure to keep an eye on the bottoms as well as the tops.  It's easy to get them a little too crispy on accident.

While the rolls are in the oven, mix up your icing:

Ingredients

• 2 c. Powdered Sugar
• 2 Tbsp Melted Butter
• 1 tsp Vanilla
• 2-3 Tbsp Milk, or enough to make icing "spreading" consistency

Steps

1.  Mix powdered sugar and melted butter with electric mixer.

2.  Add vanilla (I think next time I make them, you know, sometime next year, I'll only use half a tsp of vanilla - it can be a little over-powering.)

3.  Add milk slowly, beating until smooth.  Make sure you don't make your icing too "spreadable" - remember it will melt when poured over your hot cinnamon rolls.

Drizzle your icing over the rolls while they are still warm from the oven.

These are equally delicious leftover - I don't even heat them up.

I like them best just plain, but if you want a special treat, you can try one of the following:

Variations

These can be added to the roll after the cinnamon sugar mixture.

• Chocolate chips
• Pecans or walnuts
• Raisins
• Diced fresh fruit such as apples, peaches, bananas
• Pie fillings such as apple or cherry

For Orange Cinnamon Rolls, substitute orange juice for milk in making the dough and the icing.  Also, use brown sugar with the cinnamon instead of granulated sugar.

*As I was writing this, I felt instictively that it was a reference to some bad b-movie, or alternative reality book.  Anyone know what that might be?  I just have this weird picture in my head of some creepy Marsh-wiggle type creatures who make and eat butter all the time, and maybe evenutally turn out to be evil...

Anybody else?  Or is this just a symptom of an over-active imagination?

**Update: I remembered where it's from! It's from a Hallmark movie called The Magical Legend of the Leprechauns that I used to watch when I was younger. I cannot, for the life of me, remember whether the butter eaters were evil or not, though.