The Power of Suggestion aka Cinnabon

I was listening to Where’d You Go Bernadette on audible the other day when I was suddenly struck with a very strong desire for a Cinnabon. The narrator was describing being enticed by the wafting smell of Cinnabon and then eating it…I don’t know what got me. I think it was her description of it being a “puff of deliciousness.”  Let me just quote her because it was such a great paragraph:

“The Cinnabon wasn’t going to eat itself, so I sat. Trams came and went as I pulled apart the puff of deliciousness, enjoying every bite, until I’d realized I’d forgotten napkins. Both my hands were plastered with icing. My face, too. In one of my vest pockets was a handkerchief. I held up my hands, surgeon like, and asked a lady, “Please could you unzip this?” The pocket she unzipped contained only a book on Antarctica. I lifted it out and wiped my hands and, yes, my face, with it’s clean pages…”

I remember exactly where I was walking with the dogs when I heard that passage read. I was standing by the dog drinking fountain by the tennis courts with the courts to my left and the lake to my right. I was heading home. It is of no importance where I was other than it makes me laugh that my lizard brain paid such excellent attention. I suddenly wanted a Cinnabon very badly.

I haven’t had a Cinnabon in over twenty years. I think I’ve only had two in my entire life! I had no reason to want one until I heard that passage. First of all, I rarely let myself eat giant pastries (except maybe an apple fritter once a year) because I am convinced they will give me diabetes. (It’s really a crying shame).  And secondly, they don’t sell them where I live. The nearest mall that had a Cinnabon store was 23 minutes away.

Oh, you know we did.

We made an excursion of it!  I waited for the girls to get out of school and then Lubna and I kidnapped them and headed off to the destination mall. It was a total adventure and completely fun because it felt like we were doing something forbidden. Neither Lubna nor the girls had ever had a Cinnabon. The cashier laughed at us when I told her so. We were Cinnabon virgins, except I was like Madonna and *like* a Cinnabon virgin because it had been so many years.

Was it as good as I anticipated? Totally! The liberal sticky smears of cinnamon sugar between unraveling pieces of warm yeasty bread, the ooey, gooey frosting… it was so good! It was amazing, plastic fork and all.

The girls were starving because they had skipped lunch at school so they insisted on having orange chicken from Panda Express and some kind of Philly cheese steak sandwich from the food court BEFORE they had their Cinnabons. I know, so boring like that. What kind of kids want desert second?!

Sadly, by the time the girls got around to trying their Cinnabons, they were full from over-eating their late lunch and the excitement was definitely not as brilliant and vivid as it was for me.  I was meanwhile having a full-on psychedelic trip with all my pleasure centers going off in my brain. But whatever. At the end of the day we were a pack of laughing, silly girls hanging out at the mall on a school day. It was completely novel.

Everyday I write down three things in my journal that would make today great.

Eating a Cinnabon was on today’s list.

I dare you to add it to your list. Or better yet, make some from scratch.

Patches

Coyote sighting!

There’s a coyote in our neighborhood who has been openly lurking about in the middle of the day. I’ve seen him four days in a row, but not yesterday. He seems to be minding his own business. He sees me and the dogs but just keeps trotting by. One day I passed him on a foot path that traversed my path and there he was just sitting under a bush, munching on a rabbit. He narrowed his gaze, his ears stood straight up but he made no move towards me or away from me. I fumbled for my phone but ended up getting only a fuzzy shot because I didn’t have the patience to stand there still long enough. I have a feeling I will keep getting chances though.

I’m going to name him Patches. I like to name the neighborhood squirrels, Chippy so it seems appropriate that our neighborhood coyote is named Patches. He has patchy fur on his back. I’m not sure if it’s his natural coloring or if he has battle wounds from fights. He seems healthy enough. He doesn’t seem to be super skinny or act sick. I was talking to some neighbors who were also out when I’ve seen him and everyone seems to be in agreement that he’s really nothing to be afraid of. After all, we do live right next to a nature preserve that is probably his home.

We’re thinking Patches is lurking about because we have new neighbors next door who don’t understand the trash system. They are students going to the local college. Apparently some rich parents bought their daughter a huge big house and she is renting it out to many roommates. We really have no clue just that people are constantly getting dropped off with big suitcases via Lyft or Uber and they don’t speak English. We don’t see them out in the day but their trash on trash day is piled high in their trashcan and over-flowing in flimsy white trash bags stashed around the base of their trash can. Of course this never ends well. Animals (like Patches) come in the night and tear the bags open and strew the trash all over our street and into our front yard. I don’t need to get up in arms about it, the rest of the neighbors have already reported them to the to home owners association. I’m sure the matter will be rectified with an extra-size trash can soon.

But in the meantime we have a new friend, Patches.