3-8-22 WE ARE WOMEN (hear us roar)

I’m realizing its International Women’s Day, not because I’m up on all this kind of stuff, but because I finally got to sit down and check in with my pals on social media. 

I start thinking about being a woman, and the historic plight of the female gender, and my personal history of prejudicial treatment…

Then I start thinking about equal rights…

Which leads me to thinking about the difference between equality and equity…

And I start pondering the basic tenets of republican versus democrat political parties in relation to equity versus equality…

and, as is usually the case, my brain gets tired of thinking and I get the urge to go to the fridge.

So I have another helping of chop suey from dinner, even though it’s eleven pm,

And I return to my computer to find what thought started this whole knotted chain.

 

Sometimes I pretend I’m a man. I don’t lose my feminine instincts in this exercise, but I do ponder who I might be if I had my same talents and thought processes and personality, but I was a man instead of a woman. It’s a really curious place to let oneself go. Interestingly, I’m still overweight and a little slouchy, cuz even as a man my body likes to eat too much sugar and doesn’t like to work out. But in other ways I feel different. First of all my daily routine is much more… routine. There’s a lot less super-diverse multi-tasking going on. I feel, in my pretend self, more empowered professionally. And more burdened by a need for success. I don’t love having to shave every. single. day., but I’m loving not having to duck into the Ladies room to see if I have bled through my pants every. single. month.

Because I have decades of actually living in a woman’s body, I’ve seen a lot of change regarding gender fairness. What I’ve seen, in general, is a quest for equality. I’ve seen good men work toward equality, and not so good men taking the low road. I’ve seen good women working for fair and equal treatment and opportunity, and I’ve seen ruthless women hurting the rest of us. I still see women allowing themselves to be perceived as objects, or probably more accurately, perceiving their bodies as objects to be desired. I continue to wonder at my fellow sisters-in-arms buying-in to the power of their bodies to alter the emotions of people around them. If we ask the men around us to resist their animal instincts, we ought to be expecting ourselves to resist the urge to lure them as well. (That there is me on my soap box.)

Anyway, I am lately trying to consider the difference between equality and equity. Equality is low level, first step action toward equity. Equity seems to be an appropriate goal. This is why our whole white-Anglo-Saxon-Mormon family marched through our community shouting Black Lives Matter two years ago. It’s kind of a no-brainer that “all lives matter”. Of course they do. But black lives have been so long unjustly treated, and unfairly regarded by society that we need to swing very far to make up for those among us who are in denial. Equity gives them more room, more grace, more sympathy and empathy from us. Eventually, when equity turns to judgement, and then to grace, there will be no need for shifting, because we will all be on common ground. But until then, I’m willing to give a little from my comfort to balance things out. It’s sort of like the gas prices today compared to one week ago. They have sky-rocketed, we are told, because we have made a decision as a nation to refuse to purchase Russian oil while they are invading Ukraine. Huzzah for America! Sometimes… often times… doing what is right pinches pretty hard. Hard won’t kill us. Loss of integrity will.

So, here’s to women tonight. Here’s to the strong ones, the tired ones, the ones who scratch their breasts every night when they remove their bras and the ones whose breasts have been removed in order to preserve their lives. Here’s to weak women, and overtaxed ones, and those who are black AND female AND unemployed. Here’s to the women who would rather be men, and men who feel like women, and to women who are brilliant leaders, and school crossing guards. Mothers and Aunties and Grands and not-so-grands. Our uniqueness gives us form, and our solidarity keeps our united heart beating. And here’s to the women who lined up in heaven before me, took the big leap and prepared the earth for my generation. To my sisters, who are my strength and my truest friends. And here’s to my daughters, who prove the world improves with each turn, and their daughters, who prove it over again.

I AM WOMAN 

I AM INVINCIBLE 

I AM TIRED

3-7-22 EZEKIEL & ROSEANN

Ezekiel & Roseann

Our friend Ann Dale is a Mother Teresa of sorts.( She would scoff at this, but its true.) She is as selfless and devoted a creature as God has ever made. One of the things she does is run a non-profit that, among other things, has built an orphanage and school in Kenya. A few years ago our family agreed to sponsor a pair of orphan children's education. Ezekiel and Roseann came to the orphanage as siblings. School in Kenya is not publicly sponsored, so students who want education must pay for it. We took on the responsibility of  figuring out how to pay for their education through the years. We make and sell fresh raspberry freezer jam and Orphan Care Packages at my Christmas concerts to help raise funds for this. My whole family is involved. My sister Libby also sponsors a young woman, and has for years. She is now at the point of paying for her university tuition. It can get a little lot! So we are grateful for the generous help of those who help at Christmastime by purchasing these things. All the money goes to our orphans. They need all the help we can give.

That's Ann Dale on the left.

One of the great things about specifically sponsoring kids is that you get to build a personal relationship with them. We have never met Roseann and Ezekiel. But we interact occasionally by mail and email. And every once in a while, when Ann and her team travel to Kenya, we can send tokens of love to them. But we feel a sort of loving ownership in their lives, and an eternal connection as we try to help them be the best they can be.
Today's creative Lent piece is a letter to Ezekiel and Roseann. The foundation team is sending them out this week. They asked for a current family photo to go with it.

March 7, 2022
Dear Ezekial and Roseann -
 
Hello from America! It is a beautiful Monday here in Utah. The morning sun reflects off a fresh snowfall that has laid itself over the trees and mountains. I think God chose the perfect color for snow, it reflects so beautifully and makes everything sparkle.
We wish we could send you some snow, so you could know how it feels, but I'm afraid it would be much changed by the time it reached you. So instead, I'll send our love, which is unchangeable.
 
We gathered as a family yesterday for Sunday dinner and to celebrate two birthdays. Sarah was born on my birthday, March 5th. She was the best birthday gift I have ever received! She is a beautiful woman, a mom to four great kids and a Pediatrician (a doctor who treats children) and a faithful believer in Jesus Christ.
 
We heard you were both baptized recently, into the same church we belong to. It is a joy to share the same faith and feel understood by like-minded people who have similar beliefs. Jesus Christ is central in our lives, and we feel even more connected with both of you because of this shared belief.
 
This letter is addressed to both of you because I want to encourage you to cherish each other as siblings. When I was small our father left our family. It was a struggle in many ways, emotionally, culturally, and financially. My brothers and sisters became very important to me. We are still very, very close, and they are my dearest friends. You have a history that only you two share, and there is comfort in having someone who knows what you have gone through in your life. Hold onto each other. Be kind, and lift each other up through your days and nights. Laugh together. Cry together. And learn together. Pray with each other, and defend each other when it is necessary. You will find beautiful memories come of it, and they will help sustain you throughout your lives. While it is sad and difficult not to have parents to nurture and guide you, you do have each other. For that we are grateful.
 
And, you have us! We pray for you and are lifted every time we have news of you. We understand you are brilliant students, kind and thoughtful to others. We hear you are leaders among your peers, and you share your testimonies without fear. Hooray for your goodness! God has placed you where you are, with your own gifts and struggles, and if you will let Him, He can use you for good. May you be strong and effective instruments in His hands.
 
We are sending so much love and all good wishes.
 
Cori Connors (Gummy)
Dave Connors (Gumpa)
our kids are:
John and his wife Ashley (John has the beard) and their kids Sophie, Parker, Ruby and Walter
Sarah and her husband Dave. Their kids are Timothy, Anna, Joe and Grace
Kate (she is not in this picture. She lives in New York where she is doing graduate school studies)
Annie and her husband Jordon. Their kids are Calvin (he is hiding behind his parents, you can barely see his eyes between Annie and Jordon) Beth and Tessa (the littlest girl)

Connors Family
back row: Timo, Anna Calvin (hiding), Ruby, Parker
middle row: Dave Petersen, Sarah, Dave (Gumpa) Cori (Gummy),
Annie, Jordon, Sophie, Ashley, John
Front row: Joe, Tessa, Beth, Grace, Walter

our back yard in the snow

our front yard in the snow

Click here for more info on Lifting Lives In Kenya.

3-5-22 YOU ARE LOVE (for Sarah)

Sarah was the gift that came from Heaven on my 22nd birthday. She holds a place in my heart reserved for her alone. She is oozing with gifts, but still feels so small. She struggles with things that are, frankly, earth stuff. What is eternal fits soundly in her list of divine character traits. I cherish her!

My creative Lenten sacrifice for today is the rough draft of a song for her. Its hard to read a lyric and know the rhythm that is creating the pattern because of the music. But here it is anyway, because I promised I would let myself be held accountable for what I create each day of Lent.

YOU ARE LOVE                      

For Sarah

  

Time is temporary

Shame unnecessary

It has to be quite scary

For a soul to go through birth

 

No wonder we come crying

Life is terrifying

When you’re used to flying

And instead you’re bound to earth

 

Bridge I: 

But I was there when you began this earthly enterprise

And I recall divinity was shining through your eyes

 

CHORUS:

    You are love

    Endless love

    Timeless spaceless love

    Though your gifts

    Are limitless

    The first and last are love

 

Heaven is behind us

Will eventually re-find us

The in between can blind us

From the nature of our souls

 

So close your eyes and hear it

The whisper of the Spirit

Saying love it, do not fear it

Let your weakness make you whole

 

Bridge II: 

Such a massive spirit’s bound to feel a little tight

I am blessed to be beside you as we stretch toward the light

 

REPEAT CHORUS:

    You are love

    Endless love

    Timeless spaceless love

    Though your gifts

    Are limitless

    The first and last are love

Tag: And frankly, that’s enough

Love is love is love

Mother.

Sister.

 

Doctor.

Daughter.

3-4-22 SEATBELTS

Seat belts feel like church. I don’t think church should feel like seat belts, so I am attempting to shift the way I experience church.

When I was little we didn’t use seat belts. I’m not sure if our cars even had them when we were little. On our trips between Pittsburgh, PA and Blackfoot, Idaho we had cushions that laid in the back of our station wagon and we three little girls bedded down all snug and comfy while Mom drove through the night. We didn’t have car seats for my first two babies. I carried them home from the hospital in the front seat on my lap. It sounds insane now. But it didn’t feel that way then. And riding was physically much more comfortable.

Then laws were enacted, and laws were enforced, and we all started strapping in, at least when a cop was in sight.

I think my personal issues with seat belts began when we bought a car that had automatic shoulder belts in the front seats. As soon and the engine turned over, this robotic sound would rise up as a strap locked in at the shoulder. We had to put the lap belt on ourselves. The parent in me had by that time started taking note of the safety factor of the seat belt. Public Service Announcements from the Utah Safety Council did an effective job scaring us. And I jumped on the scare tactic train by telling poor pre-adolescent Kate about the lady I heard of who did not strap her seat belt on and was beheaded by the shoulder belt in an accident. I think I may have added the clincher visual of her head rolling down the freeway. Not my finest parenting move. I think poor Kate is still traumatized. 

Anyway, I have never been comfortable, physically, in a seat belt. I’m sure it has to do with my body shape. I swear seat belts are made my men for men, of a certain height and shoulder width, with no hips and no breasts. I used to call that automatic shoulder belt we had the "Lucifer strap". Its sole purpose was to protect us, sure, but we had absolutely no say in it. "That's exactly what Lucifer planned... he was going to FORCE us to be good. It's devilish, I tell you!" That automatic seatbelt  was going to force us to be safe, by golly, whether we wanted to be safe or not! . I developed a sort of righteous indignation about that belt because it took away my power to choose. That's where church and seat belts fit in the same emotional category for me. And frankly, when it comes down to it, I am grateful for both, I just don’t want to be forced into either of them.

A few decades ago I was in a car accident on the corner of Shepard Lane and Main Street. A car ran a stop sign and ran smack into the front corner of my van. This was before we had a vehicle with air bags. I sat stunned for a moment, watching steam rise from the scrunched hood in front of me, with steam rising from it. I became aware of the loudness of the music basting from my car speakers, removed my seat belt and leaned up to turn off the radio. There was a piercing pain in my chest, so I sat back and waited. The paramedics arrived, strapped me to a stiff wooden board and hauled me off in an ambulance. I thought something was wrong with my heart or lungs. X rays showed I had a broken clavicle, a bruised sternum, and cracked ribs. All this from my seat belt. I also had an injured knee, broken toe and torn tendon in my finger and forearm. I could not lie down for six weeks. Dave lugged my mom’s old blue chair up to our bedroom awhere I recovered. I did a lot of thinking during that time. I also wrote the song Get Back on That Pony., but that's another story for another time.

I often think about the fact that what harmed me also saved me.

I realized, as I sat there, that what had harmed me had actually saved me, too. 

Now, when I choose to reach over my shoulder, tug on the polyester belt and strap myself in, I feel it press against that tender spot on my collar bone that had once been cracked because of a seatbelt. I bugs me. So I have to parent myself and speak logic. I have a personal brain fight every time I get in the car. A while back, while I was driving and doing a little self-analysis about the whole seat belt thing, I had a little thought that putting on my seatbelt was kind of like saying my daily prayers. Sometimes its no problem at all. I wake up grateful and rested and its easy to pause before God and thank him. Then there are the times I’m grumpy, or sore and tired, or running late for a meeting, and I don’t really feel like praying. That’s when I think of prayer like my seatbelt. In a good way. I decided daily prayer and seatbelts are just those tools given in our humanness to help keep us just a bit safer in a dangerous world. We can choose to use them, or not. And in choosing, I accept the consequences if something should go amiss. 

Seatbelts. Church. I wish the temptation to resist doing what's right would dissipate in me. But I am getting up there in years and it is still alive and well. I guess its part of being a spirit, who I suspect fought hard against Lucifer's plan, put into human form. It's ok. I don't hate myself for it. But I do have a lot of brain fights. And fortunately, usually, the good guy wins.

3-3-22 SOLIDARITY FLAGS

I realized about an hour into it that it would have been much easier to sit down and write my thoughts about what's happening in Ukraine.  Right now its in the front of most civilized peoples' minds. But who knows, in the distance, and depending on the short and long-term outcomes, this may be misplaced under a pile of other misfortunes that have been hurled against our planet lately. The short of it is that Vladimir Putin, leader of Russia, has sent his forces into Ukraine, bombing and attempting to take the land by force. From the blurred perspective of an ordinary grandmother in America, it seems to be a power play. The Ukranian people have displayed remarkable gumption and courage, standing their ground and taking up arms in their mismatched woolen coats and sneakers. 

It would take a big ole wad of words for me to explain what I know and how I feel. I am not informed enough to speak wisely. But I do feel deep compassion and outrage for Ukrainians. And, surprisingly, I feel a strange compassion for the Russian soldiers who are, 80% of them, compelled to join the armed services and do what they are told. Many, if not most of them, have been forced to do something they would not personally choose to do. My head swirls like a whirlpool sucking down into the unknown information out there in the world.

A Ukrainian grandmother learning combat.

A wounded Russian soldier speaks to his fellow
Russian soldiers from a hospital in Ukraine.

I called Colonial Flag to order some Ukrainian flags for our door and our kids' doors; symbols of solidarity. The clerk said they are all out, that their sewing machines were sewing only Ukrainian flags, but that they could put me on a wait list for when more came in. So, yeah, I ordered five Ukrainian flags for some unknown date in the future.

I think it was two in the morning, lying in bed trying to figure out how to get to sleep, that the idea came to me that I did not have to wait for someone else to sew Ukrainian flags for me. I could do it myself.

So I did.

As I sewed I listened to the Ukrainian National Anthem, performed by various choirs and orchestras. Finally, after multiple grand and robust renditions, there came a solitary unaccompanied woman's voice, shaking as she sang, the sound of broken glass being swept in the background. I stopped sewing to look at the YouTube video on my phone. The woman was sweeping the glass from the window sills of her mother's flat. It had been rattled in the bombing the day before, throwing her elderly mother 10 meters into the hallway, but not killing her. Her daughter, who had come to help clean up, sang until the words stopped, then she looked out through the glassless window over the shattered city and whimpered two words, one I did not understand, the other, "Ukraine." It took me to the place in my mind where I have pictured our Lord, on the night before he lost his life, pausing on the outskirts of Jerusalem, gazing one last time on his homeland as he wept, uttering the words, "Oh, Jerusalem."

I know, or at least I have considerable confidence, that the Lord is conscious of all that is happening to His earth. We try, we little humans, to think like God... to pretend we know what He would do or what He will do. Fact is, only God knows his own mind. But he has told us, repeatedly, that he loves us, and he has a vested interest in our success. So lately I use the "how are things going for me and mine a thousand years from now" mantra and keep plugging along, praying as He told us to, and hoping, as He also told us to. Knowing, regardless of what happens in this moment, that he has the future in his hands.

My Friend Liz posted this today.
Her young daughter is teaching herself Ukrainian.
Look at the words she chose to learn.

3-2-22 LENT DEFINED

Define Lent.

I got curious. I often do.

When I was young the only thing to do with a curious question was: 

1. Ask someone

2. Find the outdated Encyclopedia Brittanica in the storage room and look it up

3. Put on your coat and walk down to the public library

4. Ponder and come to uninformed conclusions

Nowadays we have the internet. 

(I’m a curious person. I don’t get a lot done around the house.)

Anyway, I got curious about the word “Lent”. It’s been two hours now, and here’s what I have:

Lent is the past participle of lend.

It is also the word used to represent the period preceding Easter that in the Christian Church is devoted to fasting, abstinence, and penitence in commemoration of Christ’s 40 days of fasting in the wilderness. It runs from Ash Wednesday to Holy Saturday and so includes forty weekdays.

The etymology took me to a couple ancient foundations, one indicating it derives from lengthen, alluding to the lengthening of days in the changing of the season. Another refers to the term long, or stretching out, as in the exceptional fast of 40 days that Jesus undertook.

Since today is Ash Wednesday and the current Pope called for an international day of fasting and prayer for peace, particularly in Russia-invaded Ukraine, I am currently trying to keep my mind off food. Isn’t fasting such an interesting human experience?

Though the religion I have chosen to practice does not engage in the united observation of Lenten practice, I chose, thirteen years ago, to pause and write every day of Lent. I post the pieces on my blog to give me accountability. But the side effect is that I now have a sort of personal history, after all these years, that I would not otherwise have. It’s not necessarily chronological, but if anyone ever wanted to know the gist of who I am, reading this collection of thoughts would tell them more about me than most personal histories do. So hooray for Lent!

 

Two years ago, our entire world had entered the frightening and unknown space of a worldwide pandemic. Everything had come to a screeching halt. Schools closed down. Workers did what work they could from home. We were learning, slowly, the nature of the virus that was killing people. We were wiping down our groceries before they came in the house. We were sewing masks. We were craving, and not getting, human interaction. Church meetings were cancelled, and with them, the ordinance of the Holy Sacrament was no longer available to our congregation. Our church leaders gave permission for the ordinance to be performed in our own homes, under the proper priesthood authority. That’s when my fidgety hands started making Sacrament sets. Small family sets that could be used at home. I recruited my team, meaning Dave and my sisters, and my brother-in-law Michael. As the pandemic stretched on and on, the more sets we made. It’s a sweet story in itself. I wrote about it quite a bit in my Lenten writing two years ago. Anyway, I was out in the garage drilling away when our friend Paul Dickamore came down for a visit. Paul and Dave are golfing buddies. I thought he was coming to chat with Dave. But Paul is also the bishop of our church congregation, and he had come to ask if I would be willing to accept the calling as Relief Society President in our ward. Since we were not meeting as a congregation, such a conversation was the last thing that would have crossed my mind.

Thus began my service with a group of remarkable women and men who, like me, are trying to navigate life and get back Home without too much damage being done in the process. It has been a very demanding undertaking. Frankly, I don’t think anyone but Christ himself could do it perfectly, and that alone is soul stretching and incredibly, sometimes paralyzingly, humbling.

Charity may never fail -
But it sure can make you tired.

Being Relief Society President during the pandemic has been especially taxing. We have had ten funerals in the short time I have served. We have, just in the last few months, had three ward members in the ICU. There are physical needs… abundant physical needs! But the most difficult seem to have been the emotional struggles that do not come with a recipe for help. We have, as part of our ward, a mobile home park for seniors, where there is much struggle and considerable need. I have a constant internal battle, worrying that because I spend so much emotional and physical energy with that demographic, I am neglecting the larger group of women who live on the other side of the highway. Without going into exhausting detail, I ended up sitting on my sister’s couch one night not long ago, surrounded by three of my sisters and Dave, and I felt that rumble in my midsection that rose to my head and sprung forth in tears. You’d have to know that my blessed medication for depression generally keeps me from crying, so the presence of tears is worrisome in itself. Once they started I couldn’t stop. My poor sisters. None of us can stand to have another of us sorrowful. Finally, words came out:

“I think I miss creating.”

And there it was. My truth. I was no longer writing songs, or even playing guitar. I was not preparing lessons for guitar or ukulele. My gigs had ceased. I missed my creative friends. I missed quirky creative musical people. Plus there were no baby of wedding showers to throw. My house sat dusty and quiet because not even our family gathered there anymore. I was exhausted from serving, but so little of it was creative. That awareness brought with it a measure of grief that I am still trying to process.

But the awareness has also opened my mind to exploring options.

The pandemic is winding down, at least for the moment. The mask mandate was lifted from church meetings, and public buildings. We are starting to gather again. Hope springs eternal!

All this brings me to what I am thinking I will do for my Lenten sacrifice this year. 

I am going to create.

Sometimes it will be assembling words. Sometimes, it may be music, or visual art. It may be a new recipe. It may be rearranging a space. I am going to give myself the freedom to decide each day and not limit myself to one medium. But it has to be purposeful creation. And I promise to be accountable.

If its physical, I’ll post a photo. If it’s culinary, I’ll post a recipe. If it’s words, then of course, I’ll post that. All I can commit to is that it will be intentional, not accidental, though I do value accidental magic. It’s the intent that makes it a sacrifice, and it’s the sacrifice that makes it holy to me. A forewarning, however: Do not necessarily expect any of this to be reasonable or rational. What will be will be.

Albert Einstein

“I never made one of my discoveries through the process of rational thinking.” 

Einstein

CINNAMON ROLLS

So it took six decades, but I finally figured out the cinnamon roll thing. Nice, light but meaty, thick and yummy cinnamon rolls. The kind that press against each other when they rise.

This recipe will make 4 dozen, because when we go, we go big! It's in keeping with my Rule of Fourths: Keep one pan and give 3 away. When you have three sisters living up the street, and kids and grandkids a short drive away, there's hardly ever any left to give the neighbors. If you want two dozen rolls, cut the recipe in half.

Here's how I do it:

Clean off your counter and gather your stuff. That's half the work at my house.

First, you need mashed potatoes for these. It might turn you off until you try it, then you decide its ok cuz they're so yummy. Keep a box of instant mashed potato flakes in your cupboard. They whip up easy peasy. Or do what I do... find some leftover spuds in the fridge from that dinner you made the other day... consider making hashed browns for lunch, but decide instead to use them in cinnamon rolls.

CINNAMON ROLLS 

3 T dry yeast (4 packets)

1 c warm water

 

4 c milk (scald)

1 c shortening

2 c sugar

2 c mashed potatoes (reconstituted is fine)

4 slightly beaten eggs

4 t salt

13 c flour (I use non-GMO flour from Montana. My sister with gluten issues is able to have this in moderation. Hooray!)

Optional raisins and walnuts (add to one c of the flour before you mix them into the dough. I don't make mine with these, so this is an educated guess)

2 c sugar

3 T cinnamon (this is a guess)

Dash of salt

Here are the step by steps:

1.     Put dry yeast in small bowl and mix in warm water. Set aside 10 minutes

2.     Pour 4 c milk in pan and scald. Heat until bubbles simmer on the edges.

3.     Put  1 c shortening in a large bowl, Pour hot milk over it. Stir in sugar, salt, potatoes, eggs, yeast, then 12-13 c flour. Stir till flour absorbs liquids.

4.     Cover and let rise till double. Time will depend on the heat and humidity where you set it. Maybe a couple hours.

5.     Punch down dough and divide into 4 portions.

6.     Sprinkle flour on countertop (I use a pastry mat on my counter). Press dough into a rectangle, using your fingers. I don’t even use a rolling pin. Just work it into something like 11 x 17”, ¼ inch thick.

7.     Warm butter to room temp, or melt till almost liquid in microwave. It’s easier to spread if it’s not hot. Cover rectangle with butter, enough to facilitate holding the cinnamon mixture

8.     Sprinkle cinnamon sugar over all, so that it looks pale brown all over.

9.     Gently roll so that you have a long log, not a short fat one.

10.  Cut into 12 rolls. Sometimes I use a serrated knife dipped in flour between each cut. Sometimes I use a piece of thread or string to make the cuts. Both work.

11.  Place rolls in a greased cake pan, 12 per pan. Cover and let rise till double, maybe an hour?

12.  Meanwhile, preheat ovens to 350. 

13.  Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes

14.  Cool and frost. Or Glaze while warm. Pick one - don't glaze AND frost :-)

 

GLAZE (you might need to double this):

2 c powdered sugar

2 T melted butter

2 t vanilla

4 T milk or cream 

Drizzle on warm rolls

FROSTING:

1 ½  c soft butter (3 cubes)

4 c powdered sugar

A few dashes of salt

1 T vanilla

Milk or cream to get to a spreading consistency.

Frost cooled rolls.

 

Beat all frosting ingredients a long time… like 6-7 minutes till its light and fluffy. Spread on cinnamon rolls