The three wise men and their ornate pedestal containers wandered through my dreams last night. I smelled the incense first.
I woke thinking of the spices that must have filled the small room, wafting under the noses of the toddler baby and his parents. The exotic otherworldly mingling with the smells of their ordinary.
And it is this way now. The evergreen joining with the scent of take n’ bake pizza as we decorate our tree.
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Several years ago, we learned how finely attuned our J’s nose is to smell. As a three-year-old, she learned about the woman who poured her perfume on Jesus’ feet, and then gave her keen sniffer a try. Wearing a bandana to cover her eyes, J identified scent after scent — lavender, orange, vanilla, cinnamon — as if it were second nature to her.
Haven’t I heard that stations of smell live in the brain right next to memory? So the scent of perfume, of laundry detergent, of chocolate chip cookies can take you right back there.
So when J smells cinnamon as an adult, what will she recall? The German Apple Pancakes of Christmas morning or the shaker sitting on the wooden cutting board, ready for sprinkling into the oatmeal she’s made as it simmers on the stovetop?
Cherished celebrations of the year or rhythms of the everyday? Or both.
Probably both.
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The home-keeping experts say if you want your house to say welcome, throw some cinnamon sticks in a pot with water, and simmer away. You’ve got yourself some thrifty girl potpourri.
Scents can wrap us in memory or belonging — say, yes, this is a safe place — or strike us with sudden recognition.
When we unwrap our ornaments one by one at the dining room table, it’s the cinnamon that summons the first exclamations of smell. The applesauce stars given their rich color by the spice smell more strongly twelve months later, wrapped as they’ve been all year in thin sheets of tissue.
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When I really stop and think, how unbelievable that this staple of seasonal celebrations comes from bark.
For the serviceable cook like me, cinnamon is a baking ingredient, associated largely with the darker months of the year, and an occasional fancy-shmancy addition to meals. For the other half of my marriage, in other places in the world, in this city and in the kitchens of the highly creative, cinnamon is a key ingredient in meals with cauliflower and rice and in coconut soup and fish stew.
I read that before cinnamon dries into its holy scrolls, before it is ground into its shakeable powder, it is the bark of the evergreen cinnamon tree, part of the laurel family. And when I see the pictures, the leaves of the plant look startlingly like the glossy laurel hedge framed by two of our home’s main floor windows.
The very most ordinary everyday-green house wrappings mingling with the scents inside worth remembering.
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Were it not for Amber Haines’ prompt of THE CINNAMON at her blog, The Runamuck, I think it’s safe to say it would have been many a year before I’d have written a full post about a spice. Thanks for the inspiration, dear Amber. I’m so loving the opportunity to see the deeper meaning of concrete things through this series.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Ashley, how sort of amazing that you dreamt of frankensense and myrrh last night! How lovely that you’ve tied all together, in one fragrant package, your dream, the birth of the babe in the manger, the smells of Christmas cooking and the ornaments on the tree, J’s incredible (and adorable) nose, and the laurel bush that embraces your house! You’re such a master (mistress?) of highlighting the connections that exist, the ties that bind past to present and the seen with the unseen. Another very lovely piece. (and thank you dear heart for the links.) ;) xx
Thanks so much, Mama. Reading your blog yesterday inspired me to think of cinnamon differently — you’re a mistress of the extraordinary ordinary, too…ya know?
wowzer! I’ve been afraid of ‘the cinnamon’ prompt…I might be inspired to give it a try!
Even though the link party didn’t happen, it would be great if you gave the cinnamon a whirl. Sure pulled me out of my comfort zone a bit. Thanks for stopping by, Melissa.
Hi dear Ashley
It seems that you and I both wrote posts on cinnamon without a link. Well, it does not matter for I still have the privilege to read your post and share in the beauty of your mind. Thank you. This was a charming read!!
Hugs XX
Mia
Thanks so much, Mia. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the prompt.
A season to enjoy the sweet scents that brings us to that special event
Yes!
I do so enjoy watching where your mind and heart go as you write! I would have been totally stumped to write about cinnamon, and wow, girl, you wrote so many thoughtful reflections. I like how you tied in cherished memories of the year with the ordinary everyday, and how our minds are so complex that smell and memory live as neighbors. What a fun read, friend.
Thanks for hanging in there with me on my crazy meanderings. :-) I was stumped by cinnamon all weekend…kept thinking about it and had no real clue where I’d end up myself. Funny how that happens. And yes, speaking of minds…aren’t they incredible?!
“The exotic otherworldly mingling with the smells of their ordinary.”
When I read your writing, Ashley, I feel like I’m nestled up to a cozy campfire…so filled with light & warmth. Makes me want to fill my home with the scent of cinnamon…
Love to you, my friend.
What a beautiful compliment, my friend. Would love to sit next to the campfire sometime with you….wouldn’t meeting face to face be wonderful? :-)
You inspire with your enthusiasm your passion your words and your beautiful creative heart. Thank you. I was hesitant to give it a try but I shall now. This is earthy and fragrant and so rich. Your layers upon layers of lovely are a tapestry of the concrete, cinnamon.
I so appreciate the words you put to your experience of reading what I write. Truly, Elizabeth. Such blessing.
“The exotic otherworldly mingling with the smells of their ordinary.” I like this Ashlley. Thanks.
Thanks so much for your comment, Kath.
You have made me like cinnamon again.Thank you!
You haven’t liked cinnamon?! :-)
I’m so sorry I’m so late in leaving a comment! This is so beautiful and thoughtful. You know, I had forgotten cinnamon was made from bark? This was so evocative, and made me think of Christmas and childhood and good things. God can make good things, amazing things, out of dried up tree. Thank you.
What a beautiful application, Tanya. Thank you.
Cinnamon simmering in a potpourri, what a brilliant idea!
Fun, huh?
What a sweet post. Thanks for sharing and prompting my own savory memories!
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Thank you for your comment. I so appreciate your visit!