It smelled more like beer mixed with dead dog than bread! After a wonderfully fun and long phone call I walked into my kitchen and found disaster. My bread dough had risen out of its bowl, onto the counter, dripped off the counter, and grew across the floor! It was odorizing half my house with a pungent, awful mix of smells.
I was raised not to waste anything, especially food, if in this case you could label it as such. Twice on similar occasions I’d baked the “bread” anyway but baking hadn’t improved it one wit! I couldn’t eat it, so this time I scooped the nasty stuff up, hauled it to the backyard and buried it as fertilizer.
I was satisfied that in the spring my garden would thrive with so much soil conditioner. Spring came and I put on my rock hounding boots, took up my shovel, and headed for the backyard to turn over the soil.
I was delighted! I was thrilled! My backyard was full of mole mounds. I still love those mounds of fluffy dirt!
I jumped in the air high as I could and landed, not in a glory of soft soil but in odorous goo! Yes, the dough I’d buried in many places had continued to RISE and mix with mud and had grown four fold! I pulled myself out and beat the stuff down with my shovel. It exhaled giant, terrible poofs of stink!
My neighbors complained about the mysterious smell and so did the garbage men the next year. For that full year I reasoned that the “dough” surely must have run out of sugars to eat and would surely DIE but it never did! My yard got bigger and higher all that year as I refused to waste “food?” I never could plant a garden.
When a garbage dump is full people flatten it and plant a housing tract on top. To this day, I watch the news in dread hoping not to see ‘An Odorous Mystery; why did this neighborhood rise up ten feet and put off a terrible smell?’
My neighbor is suspicious and some what frightened because most of his neighbors are white and when they’re at home they spend ALL their time QUIETLY INDOORS. This seems sneaky to him and he’s positive they are PLANNING something!
I laughed at myself and told him my black neighbors put their lawn chairs on the sidewalk and talked and laughed so loud I was sure they WERE PLANNING SOMETHING!
In the sixties I attended a black high school where in a large art class the only ones of us that weren’t dark skinned were myself and a guy from Japan. Well, actually he was darker than me too, so I was the only pasty one there.
At the end of our first assignment we all waited in anticipation for a Japanese masterpiece, but we were disappointed. I thought, “Well, maybe he needs time to warm up.” By the time we’d finished our third assignment the entire class exploded in a ruckus of disappointment.
For some reason we all thought EVERONE from Japan could draw, paint, and landscape to an inspired perfection! The poor guy said that wasn’t true, but we argued back, “Yes it is! We know these things!” We told him he was wrong! We insisted he did have EVERY art talent! It was INBORN! He was baffled and insisted he was a beginner as were we. “NO!” we insisted. We almost attacked him with our understanding; he just didn’t know he was a superior artist, so get on with it and preform- now!
I love differences! Preconceived ideas surprise me and make me laugh at myself!
I said, “I’ll be thinking out loud about my painting; you don’t need to listen.” My husband’s answer, “Nancy, I never listen.”
How’d he know to answer? Sometimes when I asked a queastion he’d answer with a prfound statement pertaining to the thing on HIS mind. I’d respond to his subject and ask my queastion again at a deeper level.
He’d repond to my question and add a statement that dug deeper into his subject. I’d challenge his answer and make a statement off to the side but pertaining to his response and add a further thought to mine.
We could go on a long time and maybe add two more subjects before we ended by laughing at the exercise.
Occasionally a thing would be very important to me; so I took hold of both sides of his beard, just below his ears; I got close, almost nose to nose; and quietly I’d say, “This is important…” He knew to listen well, otherwise listening was play. I miss John.