The Smell Test

Nearly every morning sees the same routine for me. I reach into a kitchen cabinet then pull out a plastic purple bowl. I open a drawer fumbling for a spoon. I set these two items on a counter beside the refrigerator. Then I locate a box of cereal, usually Cheerios of the honey-nut variety, although I go crazy some days and reach for the plain variety or even Rice Krispies or one of the Chex cereal family members. I open the box top, unravel the interior protection then fill the bowl with the cereal. Of course, the next step is to add milk to the bowl.

This is where this whole process slows down. I open the refrigerator door, scrounge around to find the jug of milk then bring it out into the kitchen. I slowly remove the cap to the milk then instead of pouring it onto my cereal I pull the whole jug up to my nose to give it a sniff. It could be a new, never-opened-before-that-very-moment container or one that has spent a week taking up time in the chilled repository known as the refrigerator; I am not partial to applying the smell test to milk every time I get near it.

Jennifer finds this amusing. In time, I am sure Hannah will as well. Some days, I think the cat even gives me the stink eye when I do this. But, folks, I’m just not going to take a chance. After all, I have filled my cereal bowl in past times then poured in milk only to discover the milk has turned sour. It is an awful way to ruin a pile of processed breakfast food. If I had only taken a precious few seconds to hold my nose over the milk jug opening, I could have saved myself from having to alter my morning meal plans.

I have a good life. I am blessed beyond what I ever wished for and definitely more than I deserve. Still, I have made poor choices during my lifetime. I also know I will most likely add to that list as time moves forward. Looking back, I wonder if some of those bad choices though could have been avoided if I had only taken the time to give the impending decision a smell test. You know, assess the situation a bit longer, remove the cap to hold my nose over the situation and given it a sniff. That sure would have been a better solution than to cry over spilled milk.

SantaCam

Leave it to the eight-year-old. The wheels inside her head seem to always be turning.

As this posts initially appears, Christmas Eve 2019 is here. The tree is in the corner. The ornaments were placed with care, mostly, and presents slowly filled in the space on the floor. To pull off this holiday successfully requires a lot of thought and effort. I am grateful for Jennifer who manages this with her usual grace and patience. Still, about six weeks ago, Jennifer confided in me how our daughter, Hannah, was busy making plans for Christmas Eve, plans that didn’t necessarily involve more than just leaving cookies for Santa and hanging stockings on the mantle.

This year, Hannah wanted to proceed with our usual Christmas Eve rituals. Hannah and Jennifer mix up reindeer food. Hannah then takes it into our front yard so she can spread it over the walkway and yard. Once that is over, she prepares a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, leaving it in a strategic place near the fireplace. She though had given thought to something else she wanted to do this year.

For some reason, this year Hannah wanted to take my phone and Jennifer’s phone and use them to capture video of Santa and his reindeer as they visited our home. She had given a good amount of thought into how all this could be arranged. Jennifer’s phone could be taped to the wall beside our stairs in the living room. This apparently provides a clear shot of the fireplace and Christmas tree. Outside, she pointed out to me the exact spot on the door, above the doorbell, where my phone could be taped. It would record the front steps and yard while the reindeer ate the food she left for them.

Being a parent is challenging because sometimes providing the right thing to say at the right moment isn’t always crystal clear. Jennifer and I both tried reasoning with her through a series of questions. Why do we need to record Santa? What if Santa is like a vampire or a ghost and can’t be photographed? What if Santa sees the phones recording him and decides to get back on his sleigh without leaving the gifts he has brought? What if the tape we use to secure the phones to the wall doesn't hold as long as we need? And, closer to truth, what if the phone batteries die before he gets to our house? None of our questions seemed to rattle the curious girl leaving us with our own questions about how to get through this without messing up the magic the season brings to children with pure hearts.

This post will publish on Christmas Eve, hours before the traditions in our house appear once more. So, there is no answer for me to give to you on how we will work through Hannah’s request to videotape the jolly guy in red and his tireless work crew. We will somehow figure out something. The important takeaway for me is the bigger-than-the-world heart of a little girl who embraces this time of year for the good things it represents.

I hope each of us can and will, even in some small way, do the same this year. Now, excuse me, my phone needs charged.

30513: Progress and the Past, Revisited

Well over a year ago in this space, I mentioned how the highway running in front of the house where I grew up was to be worked on, improved and expanded. When those plans were revealed, it became clear that the state of Georgia would take a couple of edges of the property owned by my Mom and Dad. They were okay with this as they realized the benefit to having an improved and safer road was a good thing.

At that point realizing changes were coming to that plot of land I know as my childhood home, I began writing some about various memories associated with my hometown. I have not lived there now about half my whole life but at some level that place still speaks to me, still means something to me, and, still is, in some ways, home.

I am sure if I am able to keep writing, that place, and more importantly the people who make that place what it is, will reappear in paragraphs and sentences here, there and yonder. For now, though, I will put this series to rest.

You may ask though about the highway progress. Well, progress is slow. It really is slow when you rely on politicians to make sure the job gets done. That can be said for any side of any political aisle you wish to stand on. Add to that how these days any and every group of any imaginable way of thinking and believing is adamant how government is the only way to get things done their way whether that way is practical or effective and this just makes things bog down even more. Every body has their hand out to get them some of that tax money, and of course, government wants to please as many as they can.

The progress on the highway improvements remains about where it was when all those plans were announced. Sure, some places have been surveyed. Maybe some folks have had discussions with others about this or that. Mostly though, it all seems to be about where it was all those months ago. It really should make any one closely watching shake their head why anyone these days has any faith in promises made by politicians and can honestly believe government can keep it's own promises. Sweet words make you feel good. Promises kept and fulfilled make you sleep good.

So, when I go back there that highway is still as rough as a dried-out corn cob. Maybe, in time, it will get patched here and there. Maybe the politicians in downtown Atlanta will follow through on their vision, or whatever dressed-up word they want to use in place of the word 'promise' they made at some point. Maybe one of them has a brother-in-law who owns a bulldozer and some heavy equipment that can benefit from some state business. Maybe when the out-of-towners who move there get fed up with their BMWs dodging potholes while getting stuck behind Uncle Junior's tractor, something will be done. Yeah, they'll probably force Uncle Junior to park his tractor because slowly but surely those parts of what I remember from that place are disappearing into the horizon like the sun fades behind those mountains each day.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at how slowly things like this move. It is still mostly a small town at heart. Things do move slower there. That slow pace can be beneficial. It sure would be nice though to have a smooth black-top surface with extra turning lanes to help handle the congested traffic no one there can escape any longer.

If this specific progress ever happens, I strongly doubt it will come within the lifetime of my parents. I am just cynical enough to suspect it might never come in mine either.

"The art of living in a small town is one of the most difficult to acquire."
~Doris Lessing

30513: Progress and the Past, Revisited playlist

Blackberry Smoke “One Horse Town"

Lee Ann Womack "The Story of My Life"

Bruce Springsteen "Valentine's Day"

Lone Justice "Wheels"

Marshall Tucker Band "Snowfall in Georgia"

Steve Earle "Hillbilly Highway"

Montgomery Gentry "My Town"

Joe Diffie "John Deere Green"

Charlie Worsham "Southern By The Grace of God"

John Mellencamp "Minutes to Memories"

Nanci Griffith "Going Back To Georgia"

Lucinda Williams "Sweet Old World"

Larry Cordle "Old Men"

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers "Southern Accents"

Alan Jackson "Where I Come From"

Van Morrison "Georgia On My Mind"

Buddy Miller "Wide River To Cross"

Black Crowes "Remedy"

Jakob Dylan "Up On The Mountain"

Marc Broussard "Lonely Night In Georgia"

Linda Ronstadt "You Can Close Your Eyes"

Randy Newman "I Miss You"

R.E.M. "Oh My Heart"

Balsam Range "I Hear The Mountains"