A couple of days ago, my daughter and I enjoyed another one of life's heartwarming mother-daughter moments as we put away the Christmas decorations which have been teetering at the top of the stairs for two weeks while we both found better things to do. The decorations are stored in my basement storage area, back in a far corner where they are out of the way for the eleven months of the year they are not needed, yet easily accessible when it's show time.
This is not a job that either of us enjoys. Truth be told, we would rather do almost anything else. Which explains why they remained at the top of the stairs for more days than is seemly while we simply worked our way around them.
At some point, I could no longer tolerate their presence in my path between my kitchen and my office, interrupting my morning coffee infusion process, and they had to go. Hence, the enforced labor situation, with a grumbling teenager grabbing the top box and stomping down the stairs with me in hot pursuit.
We walked back into the area where they are to be stored, only to be confronted with a small disaster. An entire stack of boxes had toppled over, and stuff was strewn everywhere. I put down the box I was holding, and went over into the corner to see what had happened. That is when I got a whiff of something aromatic. I do not mean that in a good way.
I grew up on a farm, and I have been closely associated with the back end of a cow, which means I am not unfamiliar with odors of various strengths. While my daughter was overwhelmed by the stench and fled, I am made of sterner stuff, and I was determined to stand my ground (for the English majors in the audience, this is what is known as foreshadowing) and root out the cause of the problem.
I got the flashlight, and looked high and low to find the source of the smell, which was, by that time, becoming almost intolerable. I screwed up my courage and pulled open the cover of the sump pump pit, thinking perhaps a small critter had washed in from the pipes around the house. I pulled out boxes and moved things, searching desperately for the cause of the problem. I hate dead things, but the smell was so bad, I felt I couldn't leave it there, either, so I was trying to be bold and face my fears and just deal with it.
I finally gave up, and as I stepped back from the little storage space, the odor dissipated slightly. I couldn't understand it, because there was nothing disturbed, no sign or reason to think that anything was there that didn't belong there. And yet, the odor continued to waft over my nostrils in a malodorous cloud. It was inexplicable, something was clearly amiss, and it was my job to find it, because failure was not an option.
I went back upstairs to regroup, and plan my next line of attack. I was discussing the options with my mother, who is wise and experienced at solving life's problems. We discussed at great length the type and substance of the odor, and finally I decided it was less a "dead" smell than an odor like sewer gas.
I changed into my shorts and t-shirt that serve as my pajamas while I contemplated my next step, talked to my mom some more, then went down to the storage area one more time to survey the situation. That's when I noticed that the smell was gone. As mysteriously as it came, it had disappeared, leaving me with nothing but questions and frustration.
Erin humored me by going downstairs once again, and verified that the odor was no more. It was inexplicable. I didn't know what to think. I gave up and went to bed, thinking that I would never know the answer, and slightly annoyed with the whole situation.
The next day, I set my boots up on the edge of my bathtub so I could put them on, when one fell off and onto its side. Under the arch, there was a large of patch of dried something, of a suspicious color and visual texture. I leaned over and picked up my shoe, and a familiar scent found it's way into my nostrils once again. I looked at the bottom of my boot in disbelief, then burst out laughing as I realized that the smell in the basement corner was, in fact, coming from me, and disappeared because I had taken off my boots and put on my slippers as I got ready for bed.
I have been thinking about that moment ever since. I think life is a lot like that. Shit happens, but so often we have no idea where it's coming from, or how we got into the mess in which we find ourselves. We look everywhere for the answers to our problems, filtering the information to fit our preconceived notions instead of simply looking at the situation, and seeing it as it really is. I had a perception of where the cause of the problem was located, and because I was so busy looking for information that would support what I "knew" to be true, I was unable to see the solution that was literally a foot away.
Answers to life's biggest problems aren't always so easy to come by, but the answers to our own problems often do begin, and end, with us. The dog doo on the bottom of my shoe was a good reminder that although I can't always avoid stepping into a mess, I can certainly recognize it when I do, if I don't filter out the information I need in favor of how I want it to be.
And with the right information, I can get the mess cleaned up a lot faster, too. Mop, anyone?
