It's not about the Cream of Wheat

This is my Grandma, Hazel. She didn't like her name. She used to joke that it should be pronounced French, as in Huh-ZEL, instead of HAY-zel. I still think of her as Huh-ZEL sometimes and laugh.

Anyway, my Grandma passed away two years ago. I miss her terribly. But I still have Cream of Wheat. We would sleep over at Grandma's many, many times, and every time, she would make us Cream of Wheat for breakfast, along with "toast points" and other assorted lovelies. But the Cream of Wheat was always the highlight. Gram's was always just right: not too thick, not too thin, made with a little bit of milk, the right amount of salt, and a nicely sized pat of butter slowly melting in a puddle on the top. Cream of Wheat was important at other times, too. If you weren't feeling well, Grandma fixed Cream of Wheat. If you needed a midnight snack, yep, Grandma fixed Cream of Wheat. It was always the same and it was always delicious.

But it's really not about the Cream of Wheat. I have figured out how to replicate Grandma's, and I make it for myself whenever I feel the need. It always seems to be if I haven't felt well, if I'm missing Gram, or if I just feel like it (which is probably also missing Gram). I love you and I miss you, Gram. And I'm definitely planning on making Cream of Wheat for my own future grand kids. I hope they'll feel the love like I did.