Sensory recall

Isn't it funny how a smell or a color or another bit of sensory input can transport us back to an earlier place and time?

I might have mentioned that our air conditioner is on the fritz. As in completely kaput and in need of replacement. It's been that way for a couple of weeks. Thankfully, relief in the form of a new unit is on its way later this week. Until then, however, we're rocking the open windows and fans -- ceiling fans, box fans, oscillating fans.

With temps in the 90s and humidity high, the sensation of hot, muggy air takes me back to my grandparents' house when I was growing up. Grandma and Grandpa didn't have air conditioning, so summer days and nights were spent with the windows open and fans blowing.

The adults would often head to the covered back porch to sit and visit. My favorite place to retreat to was my Aunt Molly's room. It was at the end of the hall, just past the holy water font and the bathroom with the peachy pink tile. Molly's room was painted lavender and had two or three rectangular windows positioned on the wall facing the backyard. The windows tilted outward, meaning any breeze would have to maneuver its way underneath the open panes before it could reach me.

I would lie down on the bed -- it was always made -- with the lights off. The gray box fan on the floor would be aimed toward me. I would lie perfectly still, avoiding any movement so as not to generate more body heat, and listen to the grown ups' conversation on the back porch just outside the window.

There was something peaceful about that hot, muggy quiet. The hum of the fan. The chatter of the outside world -- people talking, screen doors slamming shut, leaves rustling with the occasional breeze. The stillness of my own body.

It's a happy memory for me, a memory that is a silver lining 30 years later, when I'm sitting in my own house, wishing for air conditioning. 

Top this!

Robbie is a kid of happy extremes. When he loves something, he REALLY loves it. His first obsession was dinosaurs. From the time he was about 2 years old until he was around 6, he could not get enough dinosaurs. He knew their long and complicated names, which ones were meat eaters and which ones preferred leafy greens.

He still likes dinos, but not at the level of obsession. The next object of his heart's desire was Legos. He could spend hours building Legos. Truthfully, I think that will bring him joy for a lifetime (if his dad is any indication).

But Robbie's latest obsession is not dinosaurs or Legos. It's not drawing or painting, though both are certainly a big part of his waking hours. It's not riding his bike. Nope, what Robbie is REALLY into these days is BOX TOPS.

These things:

It started because of a box tops collection contest at school. I didn't realize there was a contest going on until I came home and found little rectangles cut out of a few boxes of cereal in the pantry. Then I noticed Robbie going through the pantry and the fridge, inspecting every box and bottle, occasionally yelling out "BOX TOPS!"

Of course, Mike then (because he's a nicer parent than I am) made sure to shop for box-top-bearing food the next time he was at the grocery store. Robbie has a baggie at home with 6 or 7 box tops in it, waiting to be turned in to his teacher after Spring Break.

But he hit the motherload -- make that grandmotherload -- when we came to my parents' house for a visit yesterday. While Annie and Charlie went with my mom and dad to a volleyball game, Robbie and I headed back to their house for a little R&R. I asked him what he wanted for dinner. He said, "Cereal," and turned to open the pantry. 

"BOX TOPS! BOX TOPS!" It turns out that Grandma's pantry was well-stocked with box tops. I told him he had to wait until Grandma came home so he could ask her if he could cut out the box tops from packages of food that were still waiting to be eaten. 

When I told my mom about Robbie's discovery, she said "Oh, I have a whole box of box tops I've been collecting just because." So this morning, Grandma rocked Robbie's world when she pulled out the box o' box tops and told him he could have them. 

Of course, when Grandma removes a box top, she does what most sane people do and just tears it out loosely. Robbie, however, is quite particular about the shape of his box tops. God bless my mom who sat there with Robbie and cut each box top into a perfect rectangle. They put all the box tops into a baggie and sealed it up for the trip home.

Wanting to make sure to leave no box unturned, Robbie hunted through the fridge and the lazy Susan and turned up at least three more box tops Grandma somehow missed. We sorted the box tops into piles of 10 and counted Robbie's bounty. 133 box tops! 

He can't wait to take them to school on Monday. Thanks Grandma!

Double D is not always a good thing.

I'm writing this from inside Dunkin' Donuts. This is a problem.

This particular Dunkin' Donuts opened 13 days ago. I think this might be the 5th time I've been here. And because I don't drink coffee and they serve Pepsi products, we all know that I'm not here for the beverages. Actually, tonight I'm here for the free WIFI...and the maple frosted donut...and the chocolate creme donut. This, as I said, is a problem. Well, not the WIFI. The WIFI works great. But the donuts...those are a problem.

This morning, one of the gals whose blog I read declared a "fast food fast" for the month of September. (I'd offer the link here, but I think the blog is private.)  I pledged to do it with her. My eating has been spiraling out of control -- how I wish I was one of those people who can't eat when she's stressed -- and except for a few pieces of broccoli on my General Tso's chicken (not a good choice, I know), my stomach hasn't seen a green vegetable in far too long.

So now I'm wondering, does Dunkin' Donuts count as fast food?

Calm down, I know the answer. I'm just trying to give myself a few minutes to rationalize. I know there is really no rationalizing this kingdom of fried dough and creamy innards. Oh sure, they have bagels here. But who goes to Dunkin' Donuts and buys bagels? Not me. Especially not when I feel like the stress in my life has been heaped on to the magnitude that Robbie heaps syrup on waffles.

Dunkin' Donuts is like edible Zen to me. When I was a kid, every Sunday we would go to Dunkin' after church and get two dozen donuts to take to my grandparents house. We'd eat donuts and drink OJ or milk out of hideously ugly, plastic, avocado green glasses. Then we'd run to the family room and watch the WWF while my mom and dad talked with my grandparents in the kitchen. Those Sundays at my grandparents' were one of the things I missed the most when I went to college.

Years before I left for college, someone (probably my mom) made the decision that hitting the Double D is not always a good thing and our Sunday breakfast fare went from donuts to scrambled eggs and bagels. Regardless, maple frosted donuts still say "Grandma's house" and can still draw me into a trance (that could possibly be a sugar coma.)

And do you know what? I don't think I even like the donuts all that much. If I really gave it some thought, I'd enjoy an apple or cold, crisp cucumbers just as much. What I like, I think, is the twisted feeling that the donuts are a treat -- something I deserve for the trials and tribulations the recent weeks have brought. I also deserve 30 minutes to myself at the gym or going to bed early even though there is still work to be done. I just have to convince myself that those things will feel as good as Dunkin'.

Now before the Dunkin' Donuts corporate PR people start leaving messages here that donuts are ok in moderation and that they have other items on their menu, I get that. I'm sure that this won't be my last visit to the old Double D. But it will at least have to wait until the end of September. Maybe by then, I will have figured out something better for me that says "you deserve this."