It really has been foggy and damp…

and that makes it hard to get laundry dry.  So there is laundry is various degrees of dryness hanging all over the house.  This is the kitchen group.

 

foogy field chicks needle felting 007

 

Considering all of it hanging there, brought to mind smells.  The clothes were clean but now instead of smelling like detergent they were going to smell like a few days worth of our dinners. 

 

I have 2 friends who are very particular about the smell of food cooking.  One doesn’t like to smell food cooking at all.  (I can’t imagine)  The other, only likes the smell of food from her own ethnic background.  She had an especially difficult time in Northern Virginia when looking for a new property to move to.  Me: ‘ So how was the place you looked at today?’  Her: ‘ It was a great location.  Really nice outside.  But after I stepped inside we had to leave. They were Indian.’ (meaning  Indians from the country of India not American Indians)  Me: ‘ Sooooo???’  Her:  ‘Well they cooked food!  That smell!  We would have to rip up the carpet and paint won’t cover that smell.  We would have to rip out the walls and put up new.’  After her remark, ‘Well they cooked food!’  all I could think was, my gosh, I bet it smelled wonderful in there.  Eventually she found  a place that only required new carpet and paint. 

 

Every night, after dinner, before we go to bed, I take the dog out.  One of my favorite things is coming back inside, opening our door and for a brief second smelling and reliving our dinner.  We  live fairly simply and don’t have a lot.  I’m glad that I am able to take joy in many aspects of life instead of closing myself off.   And most every night I am thankful and happy to enjoy our dinner again in its lingering smell. 

 

 

This was all written at the end of January.  I just never got a round to posting it.  The door in our new place opens in to the living room rather than the kitchen.  And while I am doing my best cooking Thai and Moroccan food.  That lingering smell of dinner just doesn’t hit me in the face when I come back from the late dog walk.  Oh well…

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