Thursday, December 29, 2011
I always love traveling. This time it meant a trip to museums and seeing things I'd always meant to see, but never get around to actually going to see. My daughter was ecstatic. She fell in love with the Hilton because they had shampoo and conditioner, cream and mouthwash. You should have heard her love affair with the granite counter top. It was hilarious, and maybe a little sad for me to realize that usually when we travel, it's via Super 8s, loud neighbors, and lots of iffy traffic outside. I might have to change my methods.
Travelling also means coming home. I love my home. I love my bed and my cat and my stuff. Know what I don't love? Stink. OHMYGOLLY my house is a reek-fest! I can't figure out where it's coming from! My best bud, Bronwyn Green, came over to care for my cat. She made the trip daily and gave her love along with food. It was a huge comfort to me.
I knew that there was a wrapped pound of chicken in the fridge that would sour. Because I didn't want it outside in the unseasonably warm weather for animals to find and destroy, I kept it in the fridge with a warning to Bron. So, I expected to come home to minor unpleasantness. I thought the fridge would keep the chicken cold enough to contain the smell until I could take it to the curb. It did, sorta.
Seems to me, I may have lost power while I was gone, because not only does my fridge stink, so does my freezer. I'm not sure about the rules on that, and no one was here to open the suckers and let the cool air out, but I'm thinking there was an extended sans-power extravaganza.
There was eggplant in the fridge too. Together with the chicken, that was a fridge marriage made in Pepe Le Pew hell. I might add at this time, that my dishwasher drain smell rancid. Maybe that's par for the course or something, but after a week of not running it, I think I'm growing never before seen microbes in there that release their unique set of gasses... rather like zombie yeast.
Also, my dining room, not adjacent to the kitchen, stank. So did my office which shares floor space (albeit at a distinct distance and segregated manner) with the dining room. But also, my bathroom, which is nowhere near any of those places.
Now, granted, it's chilly in Grand Rapids and I live in a very rural area with a field out the back of my house. There was every likelihood that I had a mouse. I checked all the traps I'd set. They were still set, still baited with peanut butter. Nada.
Then, oh lordy lordy lordy, the heat kicked on. Folks. I think I know where that smell is coming from and I ain't got no way of fixing it. Somewhere in the unreachable tunnels of central heating ducts, I reckon there's been a creature death.
Dear Pepe Le Pew, I think I just found your next wife. Come and get 'er.