Of Muslin and Mothballs

I just returned from an unsuccessful work day in Park City. Except that as soon as I was certain it was unsuccessful, I resolved to go to lunch with Katie and Grace. Lunch with the girls is always a success. And, it was high time for some Katie and Grace Time. We met on Main Street and ate at our favorite place. Grace's fall-weather rosy cheeks softened as she dipped croutons in ranch dressing, exclaiming (in her 15 month fashion) "mmm!" with every bite. Kates and I lingered over fresh tomatoes and basil while we brought each other up to speed on Life. Returning to the showroom was useless, as they were putting up Christmas. I'd have to trip over tinsel and bound over tree bulbs in order to make it back to the samples. I'll return next week and experience Barclay Butera - Halls Decked - in all its Holiday Splendor. That decision easily decided, I headed back with K & G to the condo where Grace napped (after a few stories) and Kates and I continued to talk. There is always so much to say - we interrupt each other, laughing and reminiscing over memories from fourth grade on.

As for the mothballs, well, those didn't come into the picture until after Park City. You see, my Mom had been holding an all-day quilt workshop in our house. There were 25 plus quilters in our house from 10 am to 4 pm. Where there are quilters, there is usually good food, at least in my limited experience. That in mind, I figured I'd stalled enough in Park City to arrive home just in time for dessert. I walked in the door ready for sweet aromas of fruit and cheese-infused salads, sandwiches, and, of course, sweets. Not so! Not so! What hit me with full-force was neither of feta or fondant, but of mothballs and muslin; Shrimp and...Septuagenarian? The most horrific of combinations, as you can imagine. There was chocolate, but all things cocoa had been over-thrown by all things old-lady. (Just so we're/I'm clear: my mom doesn't look a day over 40. She'll thank me for that later. Truly. She brought down the average age (and smell) by about 30 years).

Instead of the audible "Mmmm!" I was so ready to utter, I gave a discernible "Eewww!" heard from the basement. I ran downstairs and said, "It smells like old ladies!" Rich, bent over himself and laughing quite hard at this point said, "I know! I know! Why do you think I'm all the way down here?"

Together, we tore up the stairs, and threw open all the main floor windows. We thrust the deck doors so wide they swung back and hit the house. Blessed ventilation! The fall air would do the trick in no time and I'd be munching on sweetness in a matter of minutes. I came upstairs to check my email. I stepped into my room and opened my laptop. What the? Shrimp?! Old Lady Shrimp?! The aroma had roamed! Upstairs, and into my territory. This. Was. Serious. Up went the shades and the windows followed. So now, here I sit, windows wide open, the fall air marinated in shrimp salad. Next time, Katie and Grace, we're getting dessert. And next time, Mom, the shrimp is off the menu!