Sensing September

I am a person wrought with countless sensory memories.

Sun-Ripened Raspberry bath products from Bath & Body Works always conjure up general memories of our first year or so of marriage. Someone had given me a gift set with bath gel, soap, lotion, etc., in that scent, and I used it sparingly so as to make it last longer (we couldn't afford such luxuries). This served to create raspberry memories of newlywed bliss. In order to preserve the magic, I avoid using these products. Now, any time I want to be taken back to those early years, I can simply take a whiff of Sun-Ripened Raspberry and be transported to 1999.

During food science class years ago, I was sent to work in a kitchen lab I had never used before. There was a distinctive odor coming from the sink that was bugging the heck out of me because I just couldn't remember for the life of me what it smelled like. Finally, it occurred to me late in class that day that it smelled like kindergarten. (No idea what must have been wrong with that school building for it to have smelled like rotten sink odors.) I have very few memories of kindergarten, but that sink took me back to blue tiled walls in the long, big hallways of Dripping Springs Elementary School.

When I was a kid, I went to the grocery store with my dad every Saturday night. About the time I was old enough to go to summer camp, I became more interested in loitering in the shampoo aisle than in the junky grocery-store-toy aisle. Sometimes I would spend my dad's whole shopping trip smelling every shampoo I could reach, reading labels, considering prices. (This period launched a lifelong habit of label reading and product comparison.) Eventually, I would present the chosen shampoo and its conditioning partner to my dad for purchase approval. Finesse shampoo always makes me think of the time Adele Munoz came to spend the night, along about the fourth grade. Miss Breck brings back memories of my senior year of high school when we would break a sweat during show choir practice, and my classmates would comment on the pleasing fragrance of my hair. On and on go the aromatic memory triggers.

Though most of my sensory memories are cued by aromas, some are brought on by sounds or flavors or even atmosphere.

The sound of cicadas always means summer to me.

The song "Dreams" by The Cranberries is my college freshman year, spring semester. 1996.

A really close, smooth shave reminds me of Mia Pelt, my college freshman roommate, who let her leg hair grow all winter. When she finally shaved for springtime, her legs were remarkably smooth...smooth like a baby's bottom.

I made a pizza this week, and the flavor of it brought back memories of morning-sickness survival. (I got through the early weeks of my pregnancy eating Triscuit crackers and homemade tortilla pizzas.) I must have used Contadina tomato paste with italian seasonings back then.

Today I opened the windows in my kitchen to let the smell of scorching sugar escape (long story). It was a lovely day, and the evening was cool, so I left the windows up. As nightfall approached, I could plainly hear the crickets humming peacefully outside, while the room filled with the soft, cool, slightly damp night air. And suddenly it felt like September at Mema's house, eating supper at the coffee table, watching TV...circa 1985. My grandfather was a stickler about not running the air conditioner unless it was incredibly hot outside. So at the earliest signs of Autumn weather, we made use of the screen doors. By September, we were already in school, so I would have spent the better part of the afternoon doing whatever piddly homework had been assigned in Houghton-Mifflin Spelling (that, and watching reruns of Mickey Mouse Club--the original, with Cubby and Annette and Jimmy--Welcome to Pooh Corner, Wonder Woman, and Dukes of Hazzard). After dark, some time would undoubtedly have been spent flicking the screen door to annoy the gnats who mysteriously filled 80 percent of the holes only during that time of year. (I always found their practice fascinating.) Mema would have made some vegetable soup or something (probably about the time I was busy watching a Bosom Buddies rerun). I would sit on the floor beside the coffee table (in that way that only children can contort themselves) and eat my soup (careful to pick out the tomatoes) while watching Growing Pains or Who's the Boss. And the background for all of what I never knew would become cherished childhood memories of Autumn was the crisp night air dancing through the screen door, accompanied by crickets a capella.

Not a Fanilow

Oprah is apparently doing a "Wildest Dreams" season. It began on Monday with a car give-away. Every person in the audience received a brand new Nissan G6, fresh from Detroit. (Oprah went there herself to watch production.) Something like 275 cars were hidden on her employee parking lot with red bows and everything. It was unbelievable. I thought these people would literally pass out after they each opened their little gift box to discover that EVERYONE had the winning key. Oprah was, of course, thrilled with their reactions. I admit it was exciting even for me. One woman was there because she had written Oprah to express her dream just to attend a taping of the Oprah Winfrey Show and meet Oprah. Oprah did her one better and gave her a car to boot! This sweet woman just cried buckets of tears of joy. I was so happy for her!

Later, I found myself thinking, "If Oprah could grant me a wish, what would I want it to be?" I mean, she does incredible things for people all the time. I was at a loss. There isn't a single celebrity that I would just LOVE to meet in person or anything. While a wad of money would be nice, I can live without it. A house fully loaded with all my dream appliances and furniture would be incredible, but I don't even know where we will put down roots yet. Ginger and I can't have Oprah buy us houses next door to each other for the same reason. I guess most of my dreams have already come true.

So today she did another Dream Come True episode. The audience consisted of Fanilows. Yep, these women were all there because they begged Oprah to help them meet Barry Manilow. If that is the most they could want in life, then...I don't know what. What is the appeal of Barry Manilow? I have never understood it. Am I missing something? I mean, come on. It can't be that women actually think the man is sexy, can it?!? Really? His hair-do is inexplicable! His nose is, well, like that! He doesn't strike me as someone you would want to see without a shirt. It's Barry Manilow! It's like these women have some foggy spot on the part of their brains that controls sex appeal! So maybe it's not that. Maybe it's his talent as a singer/songwriter. I know some people really enjoy sappy lyrics, and he is the king of that. But is that enough to make women swoon? Really!? I guess you had to be there. Maybe I'm just too young to get it. But some of these women looked pretty young. They had to have been kids during Manilow's chart-topping years. (And I'm not thinking he was all that attractive even in his day, but I won't get on that again...) Now he's just another pretty voice singing sappily on easy listening stations featuring old Phil Collins songs. I just don't get it.

Weekend of nothings and somethings

What in the world am I doing typing a post at 1:08AM when I should already be in bed? This is ridiculous, but here I am nonetheless. [sigh...]

Don't you hate it when you realize you are in a bit of a hurry or what-not, and you find yourself typing really hard? It's like the computer equivalent to realizing you are talking too loudly to someone who is standing right in front of you. I hate when I do that. It usually happens when I've been around loud talkers for a while, so I assume their volume level even when it's unnecessarily loud.

The bathroom ceiling took to leaking this morning. Water just poured right in from the exhaust fan. Nice. Now there are substantial chunks of my wet ceiling out in the dumpster instead of covering the pipes. And mold. Did I mention mold?

The convertible car seat hooey that consumed my entire week has finally come to a close. Our trip to Richmond yesterday culminated in the purchase of Ava's brand new Britax Roundabout. Yes, we sprung for the top-of-the-line humdinger that is the Britax. We tried the others, but this one was the only way to go. After thorough research, it had come down to a mere three options, and the one I wanted to work out because of its great value price for the Britax-like features was just too darn heavy. That sucker weighs 30 pounds! There was no way I was schlepping that thing across the airport several times a year. So we finally broke the Christmas 2003 bank and bought the Britax. Ava was surprisingly excited about it! It was so fun listening to her celebrating back there! She's such an adaptable child that I figured she would hardly notice the switch, let alone care. But as soon as we put her in her new seat, she saw herself in her mirror (which is now rendered useless for the driver who can no longer see it) and just about squealed with glee! Her happy gyrations and extra jabbering indicate a favorable impression. Mama gets an A on the car seat purchase of 2004.

Today I was given an IKEA catalog. IKEA! I discovered how limitless are the IKEAn opportunities in budget home furnishing. As my cousin once succinctly described it, "IKEA...Swedish Goodness." He's right.

This toy brought to you by Home Depot

We went to Toys R Us a few nights ago to find the perfect first birthday gift for my niece. From the highway, the store appeared to be quite a bit larger than the Waco store, so I was excited to go see what it was like. The short of it is I was very disappointed. It was indeed larger, but it seemed to me that it was mostly stocked for children (and gamers) ages 4 and up. I certainly didn't expect to leave there empty-handed. The Waco location is laid out in an easy to understand fashion. The shelves are all parallel to one another, and the toys are shelved by age appropriateness with brands grouped together. The Charlottesville location is laid out all goofy, sort of like a maze in places. Very angular. And very annoying. I think the toys are supposed to be grouped by age appropriateness, but it was hard to tell. And definitely hard to find the right section! When I finally did find the baby & toddler toys, I was surprised by how few choices there were for a one-year-old. My best option seemed to be a really annoying bilingual singing Leap Frog toy. If he sings more than one little song, I certainly couldn't figure out how! So why should I believe my niece would? That toy was destined to drive my sister crazy, even though she would have liked the English/Spanish aspect of it. So it can just keep on singing in the Toys R Us, as far as I'm concerned.

While wandering through the labyrinth, desperately seeking a Fisher Price basketball hoop for toddlers, Britt made the comment that toys aren't made by toy companies anymore. They are made by product companies and non-toy brand names. There was a whole section of McDonald's toys. Imagine how many children are out there pretending to be a McDonald's employee, saying "Welcome to McDonald's...may I take your order" (just like on the commercials, certainly not in the restaurant) to their pint-sized customers and serving up plastic fries and Big Macs. What aspirations they must have! Closeby were the toy-sized housekeeping items by O'Cedar (and even in the aisle carton you would see at Wal-Mart or Lowe's)--brooms, mops, dust pans, etc. Did we have stuff like that? Yeah, probably. But I bet they had a Hasbro, Tyco, or Matel label. Not that of a known household product brand. Just around the 45 degree corner was a whole aisle of Home Depot toys, mostly power tools. These were cool toys. (I'm a power tool Mama.) After we played with the fairly realistic-sounding chain saw for a while (the "chain" even went around!), we moved along to continue the long hunt for toddler toys brought to you by Fisher Price. Britt was right about the toy brands. What happened to the simple toys of our childhood? Where have all the Hasbro toys gone?

Later, Britt said he had read in US News some time ago that Toys R Us is considering no longer dealing toys. What!? TOYS R Us not carrying toys!?? Apparently Wal-Mart is taking them to the cleaners just like they are every other moderately-priced category of sales. Sam Walton is posthumously taking over America. Before long toys will all be labeled "Sam's Choice." Move over, Home Depot.

Reset

Resetting one's body clock is exhausting. For months I have been spoiled to a 9:00AM wake up time, as my daughter would begin her morning sounds around 8:45 and not call out "Mama!" until about 9:00. That gave me a good ten to fifteen minutes just to lie half-awake listening to the beautiful music of Ava's whispering, crooning, and jabbering "Ga-Ga-Ga" or "Dud'n Dud'n" (her new favorite) before I actually hit the bathroom. Then law school started, which meant I needed to instill in myself a new morning routine. Now that we only have one car, Ava and I need to be up and ready in case we have to take Britt to school so that I will have the car. This won't happen every day, but we need to be on a regular schedule just in case. My efforts towards this goal crashed and burned most days last week. I think it was the wrong part of my hormone cycle or the moon phases or something. This week it seems to be going better. Last night, much to my surprise, I never even felt an evening slump, despite my 7:15AM get up time. Crazy! Britt was at school until midnight, so I just busied myself organizing the bathroom cabinets and such while he was gone. I kept thinking I'd get tired and go to bed, but I was just so pumped that I knew going to bed would just be a waste of all that energy and motivation. My body is making up for lost time tonight. I am beat. I need to sleep. Now. But maybe I am one day closer to retraining my body clock to sleep from 11:00PM to 7:00AM, in time to get ready for my day long before Ava calls "Mama!" in the mornings.