Why cinnamon rolls are good for you

If it is so that we only live a small part of the life that is within us, what happens to the rest? Amadeu De Almeida Prado

It’s been raining in Gothenburg, the kind that’s more spray than drops. Tilde, my five year old daughter, puts on a blue coat and zips it up to her chin, then grabs her umbrella as we step out of our apartment in search of coffee, cookies and hot chocolate.

We whisper down three flights of stone, circular stairs, our steps echoing, the light timer buzzing, careful not to wake neighbors.

Our conversation is about kittens, an ever-evolving and passionate discussion we’ve been having this week — nights especially before bed, because if you think about about something hard enough before falling asleep you’ll dream about it.

Outside, the wind follows us in bursts and the streets are soaked. Walking down the hill we marvel at how beautiful her umbrella is, especially the colors — shades of pink and purple, bright against the gray.

We pass her favorite toy store, hours from opening, and pause for another careful look at the widow display. We make notes of what we might get the next time we visit before resuming our journey, agreeing on how excited we are about all there is to choose from.

Turning a corner onto a cobblestone alley, the air is filled with freshly baked pastries. That means we’re close now. Our talks shift to cinnamon rolls. Or cookies, we’re leaving our options open.

It’s a beautiful a day, we don’t mind the rain. In fact it’s perfect.