With no phone in hand to save her, she falls deep into a cinnamon broom rabbit hole
Have you ever had a deep thought about a cinnamon broom? Have you ever asked yourself, how and why did a broom become a conveyance for the scent of cinnamon?
It’s not even an attractive broom. Most cinnamon brooms give off the vibe that they’ve had a rough life — as if they’ve seen stuff they’d like to forget. Now, I know some cinnamon brooms are supposed to resemble a witch’s broom. But I don’t think any self-respecting witch would lay claim to a scented creation that looks like it was made from a mixture of weeds and hay even the cows took a hard pass on.
I feel like witches would be more discerning — especially since a broom is their sole method of transportation.
In the “I don’t believe it” category (as in, I just googled it on my computer), these brooms aren’t made from weeds. Shocking, right? They’re actually either raw pine or dried heather that’s been dunked in cinnamon oil.
Why are we marinating brooms in cinnamon oil to perfume our homes? Have scented candles, Febreze, diffusers, gel air fresheners and wall plug ins, (I’m looking at you Bath and Body Works wallflowers) gone on strike?
I don’t think so, which leaves me with only one conclusion: A spell has been cast upon us to worship the cinnamon broom. It’s our October overlord and we are its humble servants.
If because of that declaration you’re now worried about me and fearful for my mental health, well, first of all, thank you. Secondly, I’m worried, too.
This whole cinnamon broom diatribe is because I have been without a phone for 27 hours, 22 minutes and counting. (My phone is currently trying to be saved by “geniuses” and the prognosis isn’t exactly encouraging.)
Honestly, not having my phone has totally messed with my mind. Being alone with my thoughts with nary a significant distraction is downright frightening. For proof you need to look no further than my cinnamon broom deep dive.
The catalyst for it was as simple as walking into a store. When I saw a bevy of cinnamon brooms my brain went a little cuckoo. I was all who, what, when and where over a freaking broom that reeked of spices.
This is what happens when one doesn’t have a phone to provide distractions. Without podcasts to listen to, social media to scroll, games to play, texts and emails to answer, or news to read, one is left to ride solo with odd thoughts.
I don’t think I’ve been left alone with my thoughts since the early 2000s when I got a pink Motorola flip phone on which you could send texts.
Now, on a normal “I have a phone day” I wouldn’t have given a cinnamon broom a second glance. But today I saw those brooms and a whole backstory emerged.
This isn’t good. I’m a busy woman who doesn’t want to cede space in my brain for a dissertation on raw pine soaked in a spice from the cassia tree that lives in the mountains of Indonesia. But here I am doing just that.
Meanwhile I’m afraid, very afraid. I need to get my phone back asap because I just walked by some spotted gourds called “warty goblins.” Why goblins? What causes the warts? Witches’ curse? Nature? Any relation to the cinnamon broom?
I fear at this point the only thing that can save me from going down a warty goblin rabbit hole is the sound of incoming text. Phone, if you can hear me, please come back. I’ve never loved or needed you more.
Reach Sherry Kuehl at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com, on Facebook at Snarky in the Suburbs @snarkynsuburbs, on Instagram @snarky.in.the.suburbs, and on TikTok @snarkyinthesuburbs and snarkyinthesuburbs.com.
