Pickles & Dimes

Tomorrow Jason and I will celebrate the end of a crappy year by hunching over a roulette table, trying Sherlock Holmes-ishly to guess the wheel’s next move (“24 comes up fairly often and so does 32, but only after it hits on black twice in a row when the moon is high…”). We both look forward to this mini vacation so much, and this year? More than ever. Last year at this time, a day after Jason was laid off, we were glumly reading a newspaper article about the staggering number of unemployed people in Minnesota. But this year? Well, it’s going to be awesome. It’s the 13th tomorrow, and Jason’s favorite number is 13, so I told him it’s going to be his lucky day because he always plays 13, every time, and 31 for some reason (in case it’s bizarro day?) as well. I usually play 6 and 17, my favorite numbers (I have an uncanny ability to look at the clock every evening at 6:17), although this morning in the shower, a piece of hair was in the shape of the number 9, so I’ll take any hints where I can get them. Anyone else have a favorite number?

Last night I grabbed a clean washcloth from the linen closet. As I ran it under water, I got a whiff of one of my favorite smells from childhood: grape-flavored Big League Chew. As I sniffed it again, the scent was gone, just like that, which was too bad because I loved the smell of Big League Chew. I always got the grape flavor too, which I’m sure my parents appreciated during long car trips. That first sniff after opening a new pouch – ahh. I know there was some kind of flap about targeting kids with a tobacco-like product, but shredded gum? Totally awesome.

Some of my other favorite childhood scents:

Crayons. There was nothing like opening a fresh box of waxy crayons. And it had to be the big (at that time) 64-crayon box – the one with the sharpener. Although my brother and I never used it. Once the crayons got dull and we’d start asking for a new box, my parents would say, “Use the sharpener!” But the crayons weren’t the same after that. You’d have to tear off part of the label, the sharpener never gave the crayons that honed point, your artwork suffered, etc. No good.

Scratch & sniff stickers. As kids, my brother and I were into collecting stickers – big time. All sorts of stickers: regular ones, shiny ones, puffy ones with googly eyes, anything we could get our hands on. But the best ones were the scratch & sniff ones. My brother once had a root beer one that smelled just like a freshly poured mug of A&W, and I had a banana one that smelled SO GOOD.

Scented markers. Remember those scented markers that were popular in the early 80s? Our school had a ton of them, and every day one of us would hold one under our nose, inhale deeply, sigh with contentment and invite an unsuspecting victim to “Smell this one – it smells like black licorice!” before surprising them with a Hitler moustache. And then the teacher would sigh and roll her eyes because now she’d have to tell another set of parents that their child is a gullible idiot.

Play-Doh. Mmmmm. That fresh, salty smell. Love it. And don’t even try to tell me you never licked Play-Doh. You did, Play-Doh licker. You did.

Strawberry Shortcake. I…uh…had what one might call an…obsession with Strawberry Shortcake in 5th grade. I had this…ensemble that consisted of a pink Strawberry Shortcake shirt, pink pants, and God help me, a pink belt with strawberries on it. I probably would’ve worn that outfit into high school if the pants hadn’t split on the playground when I was attempting to jump up six stairs at once. That was a sad day. Anyway, I also had some of the Strawberry Shortcake figures: Strawberry Shortcake, Blueberry Muffin, and my favorite, the one that smelled the best: Lemon Meringue.

What smells take you back to your childhood?

Nearly every night, whether we’re upstairs reading or downstairs watching TV, there is that moment when everything falls apart. And it starts out so well, you know? Jason and I will be cuddled up on the couch, Shorty curled into a ball on my lap, Sunny sleeping with an outstretched paw on Jason’s chest, Abby sleeping upstairs on the arm of the couch. It’s nice. It’s quiet, we’re all relaxed, it’s perfect.

And then it comes: the witching hour. Some nights it’s 8:30, other nights 9:00. If we’re lucky, 9:30, when we start to get ready for bed anyway. It always starts out innocently enough: maybe Abby comes downstairs. Maybe Sunny wakes up and stretches. Maybe Shorty runs upstairs to get a drink.

No matter how it starts, the end result is the same: absolute chaos. If Abby comes downstairs, Sunny attacks her. If Sunny wakes up and stretches, Shorty gets hyper and races around the room barking, bouncing off furniture, cats and people. If Shorty goes upstairs, Abby blocks his way, hissing and growling.

And it just escalates from there. One cat meows incessantly for food that won’t be doled out for another hour, another cat meows in a dangerous tone at the dog, and the dog decides any movement is delicious prey to be hunted.

After a long, exhausting day, the best part of the night is making it through that witching hour: when the cats are finally fed, the dog’s yawning and sleepy in his room, and we’re in bed. And things are calm again.

Until next time.

Do you have a witching hour at your house?

Today, I:

- Broke a glass while putting the dishes away

- Had a one hour, 50-minute commute to arrive 45 minutes late to work

- Have what feels like a potential gold-medal cold sore coming on

- Had to work through lunch

- Will spend another massive chunk of time commuting home

- Will help Jason shovel our driveway so we can eat dinner before 8:00 pm

- Was disappointed in that stupid February rodent and his lousy prediction

- Would like my spare time to be spent on reading or knitting instead of driving and snow removal