I’ve written a cranky post about my health, and while it’s true that I do this blogging gig ‘for me, not for you’ as bloggers tend to retort when commenters get snifty, I do like to not make this a place that depresses people day after day.
So I decided to write a post about my favorite things–the stuff I’d smell in a cauldron of Amorentia. Of course I’d smell books, that unique scent of paper and ink and glue and plastic that lets you know you’ve got hold of a new story. I’d also smell a hot, buttery caramel so smoothly rich and salty sweet, with a tang of vanilla. Without a doubt I’d also smell the scent unique to my garage–raw wood, Simple Green cleaner, rubber, metal, bike lube all underlaid with the musk unique to my husband of nineteen years.
I used to sing My Favourite Things from The Sound Of Music. I would sing that song all the time. To this day I have to say that I harbour one huge disagreement. “Doorbells” are not any of my favourite things. I suppose in the time that song was written, the sound of your doorbell ringing meant carollers or company or a special delivery. Nowadays, in spite of the whole “this is a no-soliciting community” thing, a ring at my doorbell is more likely to be someone from AT&T trying to sell me an upgrade or a kid from a disadvantaged neighbourhood trying to sell me magazines. So no, I’m no big fan of doorbells.