Thursday, April 9, 2009

a slab of sweet bread slathered with soft butter

Today at work they are selling some baked goods from a local bakery. When I heard this, I said to myself, Michele, the last thing you need is another cupcake, cookie, or cake, even if it is in the shape of an Easter bunny. So I made the decision not to buy anything unless by chance they have…Portuguese sweet bread. And they did! And I am all over that like white on rice. Cause there is nothing like a slab of sweet bread slathered with soft butter with a nice cup of coffee. It brings me back to my childhood, when my grandparents would visit from New Bedford and bring with them fresh loaves of Portuguese bread and Portuguese sweet bread. Ah, Nana and Charlie, it’s nice to reminisce about the both of you, before old age became your enemy and forced you to a life inside your tiny home crabbing at each other.

So, tomorrow morning as I savor my sweet bread, I will think fondly of my grandparents. Nana with her beautiful white hair and blue/gray eyes, used to call me witty and thought I was just the funniest thing. And Charlie, who always, always called me beautiful and sometimes even Crabby Dabby, on the days I was in a mood, which was roughly from 1973 - 1976.

1 comment:

  1. So--not the same as sweetbreads. But beautiful remembrance.