I had a couple of odiferous tasks to do today. I cannot read, type, or think the word “odiferous” without… Wait! WordPress is flagging this perfectly good word as being misspelled! Okay, Google says that the *correct* word is “odoriferous”. “Odiferous” is a variant. Who knew? I have been using “odiferous” since about the Jurassic Age or thereabouts. That’s because back in the Jurassic Age, Radical Betty and Duke were building the gorgeous ski chalet in the pitcher (which is from the Sherman Archives) and at some point, Duke and the Grinchie, who were doing most of the construction, didn’t have a particularly great place to, you know, bathe, so they would come into town and beg to use The Commander’s shower. “Can Mr. Rank and Mr. Odiferous use your shower?” Well, of course they could!

I have a weird little random memory from that era in which *I* was in the shower at my parents house. I had just gotten outta the shower and the frickin’ phone rang. I was home alone. You know this was waaaaay back in the day when there was only a landline. The most reliable phone in *that* house was in the chitchen and I was not about to run to the chitchen in a towel to answer the phone. Except that maybe it was boyfriend du jour… Or some wanna-be BF that I was trying to avoid… Whatever, fortunately, Mr. Rank (or was it Mr. Odiferous? It was definitely Duke, not sure if he was Mr. Rank or Mr. Odiferous) blasted in through the front door at that moment and yelled, “I’ll get it!” Whew! I do not know who called, which means it probably wasn’t somebody calling for me. (Note: When I was growing up, Fin family members always walked inside each other’s homes or cabins without knocking. We didn’t call our elders by titles either. First names. Well, okay, except for Grandma and Grandaddy.)

So today, I had some odoriferous things to do. The least odoriferous of them was to de-hoard the Guest Bedroom. The Guest Bedroom was a guest bedroom many moons ago when my parents would drive down to see their first granddaughter when she was a newborn baby. it became a bedroom for that grandchild and then two of them shared it. And eventually, Liz moved into what had been the Computer Room and our small house was no longer a circle house. These days, Mouse’s old bedroom has become a dumping ground. Sometimes it’s hard to even walk into it. It isn’t Mouse’s fault. Most of the stuff in there these days is mine or the GG’s or The Commander’s.

Today, I got to the point where I could vacuum at least the middle of the room. I hope this lasts five minutes or so. I am taarrred. That is about it. Love y’all, KW.

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