XXV: The Smell
Well, well, well. For the last forty-five days you've lived in relative peace and harmony, free from the psychotic ramblings of your friends from the Northeast. I hope you enjoyed yourselves because we're back. And though we don't have much on which to report, that has never stopped us before so let's get right to it.
My father, whose wisdom is well-documented, even in the annals of these prolific updates, recently told me "Son, which would you rather have: to say you are right and be alone, or to "be" wrong and have your family." Of course he was referring to the incident which will forever be known in NJ Watson history as "the Smell."
We first encountered the Smell about two weeks ago, and it was best described as a subtle, annoying scent that was either must, mold, or decay. 'Twas the kind of smell that doesn't overwhelm, yet whose presence stealthily lurks. The kind of scent that forces repeated sniffing because you want to make sure your nose isn't deceiving you, and in the process you forget to exhale and you make yourself dizzy. The kind of scent that makes you ask "can you smell that...am I smelling something?" eleven consecutive times without a response, as if to confirm you are not going insane.
Well a few days later, it escalated to "holy cow something died" levels. At this point, something needed to be done. Candles, incense, sitar music, industrial cleaning products, that powder that janitors used in grade schools to cover vomit on playgrounds ... you name it, we tried everything to cover it. We had isolated it to some place in the basement, somewhere in the proximity of the toilet and the boiler. Alas the answer was not tangibly visible. The debates raged into the evening, with one of us certain that something was dead in our house and the other certain that we had a mold problem that would require implosion of the house and a complete rebuild, analogous to the destruction and replacement of casinos in Vegas. After a few days, a few more "discussions" and neighbors asking "what's that" when they walked in the house, it was time to outsource the search.
Three plumbers, two heating technicians, and four phone calls to various "experts" later, we stumbled upon success. The third plumber, this time the owner of the company, came to the house. I think he wanted to see/smell this phenomenon himself, certain that its inexplicability would thrust into the mythical lore of the "hum" in Kokomo or some such mystery of the senses. In short, everyone who had come to the house was as thoroughly perplexed as we were. After some highly technical testing - he did a lot of sniffing - he isolated the Smell to one of the hot water pipes. In classic "guy" fashion he decided to tear out a section of the wall near the pipe, which lead him to a small crack, about the width of a crayon. The Smell intensified instantly, pouring up from the crack, but our man acted swiftly, and within seconds, it was gone -- our hero had poured a bottle of bleach down the hole, and sealed the crack, confident that the family of mice he had found was now neutralized and the Smell was forever locked away. And with that the Smell was gone, someone was right about it being a dead animal, and peace and harmony reigned again at 6 Davis Avenue.
In other news, Spring is in the air here in New Jersey, which means the sun is starting to come up a little earlier each day, the birds are singing (well, ok, they are crows and seagulls eating garbage, but let's not get technical), and all this is waking Annie up at hours normally reserved for cow-milking. Annie likes company, so she wakes her roommate Maggie up. Maggie, not one to be miserable alone, wakes Jimmy up. Then they all come to me for breakfast. All the while Regis says things like "It's 5:23" or "well, at least they waited until 6 today." Good ol Annie.
Aside from being natural alarm clocks, the other benefit to the children is of course the pearls of wisdom they offer. Here are some recent samplings from Maggie, complete with the translation for those older than she.
When Maggie says "I can't see my eyes" it means "the sun is bright and preventing me from seeing"
When Maggie says "My nose is falling out" it means "my nose is running"
When Maggie says "My nose stopped working" it means "my nose is congested"
When Maggie says "Mom, I going to wear my tap tap shoes for the man...I go downstairs to show him" it means "I'm going to go show off for the man who is eradicating the Smell"
Hope you all are doing well.
My father, whose wisdom is well-documented, even in the annals of these prolific updates, recently told me "Son, which would you rather have: to say you are right and be alone, or to "be" wrong and have your family." Of course he was referring to the incident which will forever be known in NJ Watson history as "the Smell."
We first encountered the Smell about two weeks ago, and it was best described as a subtle, annoying scent that was either must, mold, or decay. 'Twas the kind of smell that doesn't overwhelm, yet whose presence stealthily lurks. The kind of scent that forces repeated sniffing because you want to make sure your nose isn't deceiving you, and in the process you forget to exhale and you make yourself dizzy. The kind of scent that makes you ask "can you smell that...am I smelling something?" eleven consecutive times without a response, as if to confirm you are not going insane.
Well a few days later, it escalated to "holy cow something died" levels. At this point, something needed to be done. Candles, incense, sitar music, industrial cleaning products, that powder that janitors used in grade schools to cover vomit on playgrounds ... you name it, we tried everything to cover it. We had isolated it to some place in the basement, somewhere in the proximity of the toilet and the boiler. Alas the answer was not tangibly visible. The debates raged into the evening, with one of us certain that something was dead in our house and the other certain that we had a mold problem that would require implosion of the house and a complete rebuild, analogous to the destruction and replacement of casinos in Vegas. After a few days, a few more "discussions" and neighbors asking "what's that" when they walked in the house, it was time to outsource the search.
Three plumbers, two heating technicians, and four phone calls to various "experts" later, we stumbled upon success. The third plumber, this time the owner of the company, came to the house. I think he wanted to see/smell this phenomenon himself, certain that its inexplicability would thrust into the mythical lore of the "hum" in Kokomo or some such mystery of the senses. In short, everyone who had come to the house was as thoroughly perplexed as we were. After some highly technical testing - he did a lot of sniffing - he isolated the Smell to one of the hot water pipes. In classic "guy" fashion he decided to tear out a section of the wall near the pipe, which lead him to a small crack, about the width of a crayon. The Smell intensified instantly, pouring up from the crack, but our man acted swiftly, and within seconds, it was gone -- our hero had poured a bottle of bleach down the hole, and sealed the crack, confident that the family of mice he had found was now neutralized and the Smell was forever locked away. And with that the Smell was gone, someone was right about it being a dead animal, and peace and harmony reigned again at 6 Davis Avenue.
In other news, Spring is in the air here in New Jersey, which means the sun is starting to come up a little earlier each day, the birds are singing (well, ok, they are crows and seagulls eating garbage, but let's not get technical), and all this is waking Annie up at hours normally reserved for cow-milking. Annie likes company, so she wakes her roommate Maggie up. Maggie, not one to be miserable alone, wakes Jimmy up. Then they all come to me for breakfast. All the while Regis says things like "It's 5:23" or "well, at least they waited until 6 today." Good ol Annie.
Aside from being natural alarm clocks, the other benefit to the children is of course the pearls of wisdom they offer. Here are some recent samplings from Maggie, complete with the translation for those older than she.
When Maggie says "I can't see my eyes" it means "the sun is bright and preventing me from seeing"
When Maggie says "My nose is falling out" it means "my nose is running"
When Maggie says "My nose stopped working" it means "my nose is congested"
When Maggie says "Mom, I going to wear my tap tap shoes for the man...I go downstairs to show him" it means "I'm going to go show off for the man who is eradicating the Smell"
Hope you all are doing well.
posted by Watts at 11:44 AM
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