TINY TUESDAY (m)

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Registered: 03-25-2003
TINY TUESDAY (m)
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Tue, 11-20-2001 - 2:18pm

TINY TUESDAY (m)


In week three of our writing with our senses, let's write a scene or short story that concentrates on smell/nose.

Happy writing,

Mac

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Avatar for countrygal23
iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Tue, 11-20-2001 - 4:46pm

Here's mine


I had put it off far longer than I should have even though it had screamed my name, it was laundry day. I pulled out the stuffed in jeans, shirts, towels, and my favorite rolled up soiled socks from the yellow hamper and placed them in the washer.

My nose wrinkled at the scent of wet towels and dirty socks. I dumped a cap full of Era into the filling washer tub. After a brief hesitation I added another capful and then closed the lid. Glad that the task was completed I walked into the family room. Nicole was yapping on her cell phone to her sister, Katie.

“I said, no! You would stretch it out, if you wore it.”

“You’re buying food? Where at?”

I shook my head and went to my bedroom. Thirty minutes later I heard the voices of the girls. I left my room and went to the kitchen.

The aroma of the food stirred my senses. I watched as they took out the white containers. Slowly they opened the cardboard lids. The scent of Chinese food, beef and broccoli, beef and green peppers, chicken fried rice, sweet and sour chicken and two egg rolls was pleasing to my stomach.

“Do you plan to share?” I asked as my mouth watered.

They exchanged looks, giggled and said, “Nope!”

My stomach growled as I prepared to beg when I heard, “Okay Mom, you can have some.”

Reaching for my favorite purple plate, I recalled it hadn’t been all that long that they had eaten off of my plate.

The scent beckoned me to hurry to satisfy my hunger while my heart treasured the shared moment with my girls.

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iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Tue, 11-20-2001 - 7:53pm

I can smell those egg rolls from here (m)


Great job, Maria with this week's exercise. My nose smelled everything from the stinky socks to the Mandarin beef.

Mac

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 12:39am

Almond Chicken and Moo Shoo Pork...(m)


...are my favorites. I think you did a good job with this short piece. It flowed smoothly. (I can't say the same thing about the load of laundry though. You really wash all that stuff together? LOL)

Good read, Maria. Sammi

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Registered: 03-25-2003
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 1:51pm

My tiny, tiny tale (m)


The smell of cinnamon buns baking awakened me. I nudged Derek and asked, “now aren’t you glad you agreed to stay at a bed and breakfast.”

“Umm…yes, I am,” he answered.

We jumped from the bed and slipped into our clothes from the night before. Walking into the inn’s dinning area, we were disappointed to find store-baked muffins and hard-boiled eggs and not the piping hot pastries we’d smelled from our room.

As soon as Mr. Bledsoe entered the room, the aroma of fresh coffee following him, I said, “I didn’t notice a restaurant next door when we checked in yesterday. But I assume they’re open for breakfast.”

He stared at me for a moment, a crease forming in his brow. “No, there’s not a restaurant on this street. There is one at the corner of Aviles and Sardinia but they’re only open for lunch and dinner.”

Derek said, “but you don’t understand. We smelled the best flavor in our room.”

“Aye, Mary Margaret is at it again.”

I looked at Derek who appeared as confused as me, and then we turned to the Innkeeper.

“I’m sure if you noticed the painting hanging in your room—”

“Yes, I know the one you’re talking about,” I said.

“That’s Mary Margaret. She was the cook here at the house when Mr. Inglevett’s brought her over from Ireland. Your suite was actually the kitchen at one time. Well, the poor girl didn’t make it long in America. Yellow fever or something like that claimed her life but she claimed that kitchen. She just loves to cook and bake as you’ve noticed.” He paused. “So I suppose you’ll want a change room now?”

“Has she ever hurt anyone?” Derek inquired.

Mr. Bledsoe shook his head. “No. I’ve never had a guest complain of her being harmful but she did run off one couple when cooked cabbage and corned-beef one time. That sure can stink up a room you know.”

“I guess we’ll stay where we are then.”

“Great. Me, my wife and Mary Margaret. What more can a man ask for?” Derek added.

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 5:53pm

my smelly story (m)


Life is good. We're on the run, there's been the lightest sprinkle of rain, and the earth is born new and fresh and fragrant. All around us the history of the day, the week, the month, wafts into our nostrils. Every tree, every shrub, every hydrant has a story to tell.

"Cat." Sebastian drools. "The tabby from three houses down."

"No, it's the black and white one from the next block. New cat food, though."

"Maybe you're right." We pant at each other happily. "Hmm. Here comes that slutty teenage girl from the house with the good trash cans. New perfume."

Sebastian sneezes. "She's been smoking."

"That's not all she's been doing." We both snigger.

We follow her for a while, tongues lolling, until she turns round and shouts at us. "Go home, both of you. Git!" We cower in mock terror.

"Car!" Sebastian, the young fool, runs after it, hollering as though he's chasing off a monster. I stretch, investigate a shrub, and take note who's been there before. The usual crowd, a small, long-haired female stranger, and--is that, no it can't be, Big Harry.

Sebastian joins me. "This ain't Big Harry's territory," he growls. "What the hell's he doing here? I thought he'd been put under house arrest."

We both look around. Suddenly the day isn't quite as bright and full of possibilities as we'd thought. I can scent Sebastian's nervousness despite his swagger. We both do our best with the shrub. Next time he visits, he'll know our intent.

Our pace now is more cautious, less bravado. I make a lunge at a cat sunning itself on a car, and feel a burst of pride as it turns, hisses, and dives underneath. We both stalk around the car for a time before making our presence known on all four wheels, and continue our patrol.

We find some fast food wrappers and look at each other. "I'm hungry," Sebastian confesses.

"Me too."

"Uh oh." Sebastian shivers. An insolent, threatening stink wafts our way. Big Harry is approaching, a hundred pounds of menacing stubble and muscle. We look at each other. Should we make a run for it?

"Bernie!" It's the voice and scent I love best in the world. Whimpering, I run towards her, and fling myself into her arms. "Oh, you bad boy." Her words are stern but she coos at me and rubs my belly as I roll at her feet in hopeless adoration. "You've been over the fence again. And what have you been rolling in? Naughty Sebastian, naughty Bernie."

Cooing and stroking, she clips our leashes on. I push against her legs, warning Sebastian off with a slight nip; he has to learn his place. She tells us how even though we are so bad we are going to go home, have a delicious dinner, and snuggle up with her all night long. We are her hopeless, helpless slaves.

"She's the best," I tell Big Harry as he approaches us, straining at his leash, malodorous master in tow. "She's mine. And anytime I tell her to, she's gonna come and pee all over your house."

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 6:34pm

Cinnamon, the Best Smell to Wake Up To...(m)


This is a good read, Mac. I enjoyed this, especially at TG time. (It kinda brings to mind my son-in-law's deceased great aunt Olive, she still resides at the old family farmstead in Kansas. She cooks on occasion too, but her favorite is cornbread, I believe. Between her, Herb, Dolly, the other spinster great aunt, and the ghost horses, this farm is definitely a for ghost believers.) Have a good Thanksgiving, Sammi

Avatar for countrygal23
iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 6:36pm

A cooking ghost (m)


Now thats scary LOL

I really enjoyed this, I could smell those buns!

maria

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Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 7:24pm

MY TT: With Cinnamon and Sugar Sprinkled Liberally on Top...(m)


As I shoved pumpkin pies into the oven, I slid out our traditional Thanksgiving breakfast. Extra pie crust rolled flat, butter slathered on, with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled liberally on top, then baked just right. "Darn!" I used a few more choice words as I burned my thumb. The thumb got shoved in my mouth as the pan landed on the counter.

I walked to the sink and peered out at the twilight, realizing that even the chickens weren't up yet. I slowly rolled my thumb under the clear, cool water as I mentally calculated how long each item for the huge meal would take. "Too long," I mumbled to no one.

Taking a risk, time wise, I poured myself a cup of coffee and settled down for a sip, waiting for my husband to rise. Being a daytime "Mr. Mom", and a night-time working husband, I let him sleep. Reminiscing back to our pre-children days, I sighed, pinching myself to snap out of it, realizing that the sacrifice of our couple time was worth it. We have three well adjusted kids.

I broke off a small piece of the pie-crust cookie and groaned as the sweet, cinnamony pastry glided smoothly past my tongue. Another and then another, I practically inhaled one-fourth of the tray. "Good grief!" I jumped up and set it far from me. I grabbed my cup and filled it again. Settling back at the island, sipping, I took a deep breath, enjoying the cinnamon scent of the baking pies.

"Mmmm," Joe came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he lightly pecked my cheek. "Hard to sleep when it smells so good."

"Sorry I woke you."

"No problem, honey. Time to put the turkey in, anyway." He kissed the top of my head and turned me to face him.

Gazing into his lake-blue eyes, I realized that I truly wouldn't be alone on this chaotic day that was just unfolding . . .

Everything was going better than planned. All the pies turned out beautiful; the sweetness of the bubbling apples turned a light gold, with the buttery, cinnamon fragrance of the pumpkins that were the color of baked sienna.

Joe's turkey, a deep golden brown, with it's savory aroma, spoke volumes to all who entered. "I'm juicy, tender, and will melt in your mouth!"

My sisters brought in the side dishes; scalloped corn, dumplings, homemade noodles, dinner rolls. Everything smelled heavenly.

The kids all were behaving exceptionally well, which should have set off alarms, that all was not as it seemed.

With the tables set, the women set to the task of putting the meal on the sideboard. Being thrifty, I always kept my stash of good serving spoons in the bottom, left drawer. And they're only pulled out for very special occasions. With small children, our entertainment budget was about nil.

Lynne, who knew my kitchen fairly well, pulled the drawer open, digging through the contents. Straightening, lifting a brow, she commented "I can't find your spoons, Sammi."

Looking at her oddly, I walked over and dug through the drawer, sure she had just overlooked them. Calmly digging, I surmised they were not there. Pulling open the next drawer, thinking Joe had put them in the wrong place, I dug again. Then through the next drawer and the next drawer, I dug.

The other women watched as, I know, a look of pure panic had to have crossed my face. "Honey?" I asked as I stepped into the family room. "Did you do something with my serving spoons?"

Scratching his head, he looked at me bewildered. "Serving spoons?"

"Yeah, you know the big ones in the bottom drawer?"

His eyes widened as he glanced around at the pairs of male eyes that were watching and listening.

"Ah..." Rising, he hooked his finger and gestured for me to follow.

"Honey," I plastered a smile on, "I don't have time for this..."

"They're not there anymore," he murmured.

"What?"

Deep snickers filtered through the room.

"I used some cooking lunches. When I couldn't get them clean, I pitched 'em." He watched as my mouth gaped open. "The others are in the sandbox..."

Howls and hoots followed me as I wound my way back to the kitchen.

"Guess what?" I smiled broadly as I felt my cheeks burning, trying to mask humiliation. "I don't have any. We're at the mercy of tea spoons."

Gracie's brows shot up as she slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh, as I explained the situation.

Patty, the youngest, was not as quick.

The others just smirked. My mother included.

Needless to say, we did survive that day. The missing spoons played a minor role after all. Everyone ate, enjoyed the day.

One month later, as my family opened Christmas gifts, strange looking packages were placed beside me. Opening the first card, I saw Lynne's unique scribe. "Couldn't resist. Love, Lynne."

Inside? One serving spoon.

I opened the card to the second gift and read outloud, "I hope this survives Joe and the sandbox. Love, Gracie." I tore open the red wrapper and found one serving spoon.

Working my way through each, reading the cards, I laughed. I now had several very nice serving spoons! I can still see the smirks on their faces from that Thanksgiving to this day! But you gotta love 'em!

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 9:19pm

Loved it, e (m)


I really enjoyed your story and its unusual POV. Great job!

Mac

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Wed, 11-21-2001 - 9:33pm

Your story's got me craving (m)


that Thanksgiving meal already. I enjoyed your story. Happy Turkey Day, Sammi.

Mac

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