Blessings in disguise

A while back, we were at the mall of a Sunday afternoon, and stopped at Cinnabon to remedy one of those sudden late-pregnancy blood-sugar drops. And I marvelled at how absolutely scrumptiously cinnamony their rolls were. Ever so much better than mine. There's just a whole new dimension to the flavor that's utterly missing from my baking. I wondered if maybe they used cinnamon oil in addition to powdered cinnamon?

Well, it turns out that I must not have been the only one wishing to incorporate their marvelous cinnamoneyness into my own kitchen, since the next time I was at Cinnabon, the counter was lined with little jars of high-quality cinnamon for sale.

But I had lots and lots of cinnamon at home. I was still only about half-way through that humongous jar of cinnamon that I got as a wedding present three years ago. Of course, by now it tasted more like wood than like cinnamon, but it was cinnamon nevertheless, and there was no way I could justify buying more cinnamon until I used it up... in another six or seven years. (My cinnamon use was rapidly declining, as my cinnamon grew staler and staler.)

Last week, however, Mr. Wuggidy solved my dilemma. If the cinnamon loses its flavor, it is fit only to be flung about the floor and trampled on, so my sons did precisely that. It made quite a mess, but it vaccumed up easily, and the kitchen smelled wonderful.

And everytime I used the vaccum, the scent of cinnamon filled the air.

Er... make that the scent of cinnamon-ish wood.

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