Swaddled by a Cinnamon Roll

I have a recurring dream where I'm standing at the gates of heaven, and just as I'm about to take my first step to enter, St. Peter informs me, "Sir, I know how you really like to eat, so I should inform me that in heaven there is no . . ." And then he completes the sentence with something like BBQ, beer, bourbon, bacon, or pie.  This dream/nightmare stirs anxiety in me as I face the dilemma of what to do next.

Sometimes St. Peter informs me that there are no cinnamon rolls in heaven, and this stirs defiance on my part. After hearing about the absence of cinnamon rolls in heaven, I burst into a profanity-laced tirade. There's no way I'm stepping through those pearly gates. I know that when contemplating heaven I shouldn't concern myself with earthly matters, but my stomach's spiritual compass can be a bit wonky.

I love cinnamon rolls. I always have. If I had to rank my

 favorite foods, cinnamon rolls would be at the top. For me cinnamon rolls are the ultimate comfort food. Eating a cinnamon roll is the equivalent of being swaddled in a quilt made by my grandmother.

A few years ago I read about the cinnamon rolls at Johnson's Corner in Loveland, Colorado, and I knew that I would have to stop the next time I rolled through the front range of the Rocky Mountains. Here's what you need to know about the rolls: They're huge. They're 1300 calories (you should be able to capitalize numbers to emphasize their importance). They taste FANTASTIC. I just have one complaint. There's too much icing. I prefer a light glaze on my rolls. I know that I'm in the minority with this criticism, but I prefer to enjoy the essence of a cinnamon roll, which in my opinion, can be smothered by too much icing.

roll on,

muddywaters

PS. . . I'm not a Neil Young fan because his voice grates on me, but for some reason on the day I drove down from the mountain from Estes Park to Loveland, I listened to his album Rust Never Sleeps. Let me tell you: It's perfect music for driving down a mountain.