Six Week Muffins

Muffin on a plate, tin with other muffins in the background.

I remember the first time we stayed with Grandma Louise, my wife’s grandmother, and that first morning where the smell of fresh-baked muffins and brewing coffee filled the house like a more-civilized alarm clock nudging me awake as the sun began to seep gently under the window curtain.

I shuffled out to the kitchen table in my nice pajamas, eager to discover the source of this foreign wonderfulness and with an easy smile and cheery “good morning” she set a plate of these muffins and a cup of coffee in front of me, steam still rising lazily from each.

It’s muffin time.

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