Two things that probably shouldn't go together - a hyper-sensitive nose and too much driving. Oh, and spending too much time in my mind and not enough time listening to the radio doesn't help.
As I was driving on the freeway, I started to smell fried chicken. On the freeway? Does the smell of fried chicken carry onto a traffic-logged interstate - or do I have a brain tumor? Using my scanning and driving skills, I glanced across both sides of the freeway and didn't see a sign with a chicken leg or a bucket. Were other people smelling fried chicken? I can't remember what the the Internet medical sites said about smell but I know there was something people with medical - or specifically brain - problems smelled that wasn't good. Traffic was building so I had time to ponder what could be making me smell fried chicken. I looked at the cars around me and didn't see telltale signs of greasy lips, large napkins or a chicken leg in any car. Oh, I hope I don't have a brain tumor. What would be the next symptom - seeing chicken parts in front of my eyes? I wanted the traffic to move so I could go Google. After about 5 minutes we moved from an inch to a crawl and - no more chicken smell! With great effort I lowered my shoulders from beside my ears and took a deep breath. It must have been a chicken restaurant.
No more than 5 minutes later, on that same freeway just further north the distinct smell of fried chicken hit me again. Is this like labor? Every 3-4 minutes I have a chicken episode? I don't feel sick but I am starting to forget things. I can not remember who starred in that movie about the teenagers who were put in detention - whatever that movie is called. Forgetfulness and smelling fried chicken. I hope I have my insurance card with me, just in case.
A few minutes later - no chicken smell. I sniffed deeply every few minutes the rest of the way home and everything was back to normal. No, I still can't remember who was in that movie but I'm feeling better about my diagnosis. I'm not sure if my hyper-sensitive nose is a curse or an early diagnosis blessing. When I got home I googled brain tumor symptoms and for some reason no one mentioned the hyper-sensitive nose issue. And none of the articles mentioned chicken. But if it's not a brain tumor, what else could it be? Does it have to do with too much driving? My nose is trying to tell me something - could I be hungry?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Winter and "The Dog"
I do like a bit of excitement in my life. I like the unexpected, actually prefer the surprises of life rather than the routine of a day. Well, except in one area - when walking my dog, Seymour when it is 16 degrees outside.
Even on a normal, cool morning, I never know if he will want to walk to the end of the driveway or the end of the earth. Usually, if I take him out wearing my bedroom slippers, a zippped-up lavendar sweatshirt over flood sweats, and my hair crying for a comb - he wants the long neighborhood walk. In my neighborhood, our houses are so small that no matter where you sit, you have a view of the front street. I like to believe that my neighbors are all looking out of their back windows as I am shuffling by but I also like to believe that I have a forgotten winning millionaire lottery ticket in my pocket - both are an equal fantasy. I will be on view.
Of course, when I take the time to look presentable, Seymour doesn't want to go farther than the end of my short driveway before he is ready to go in. The problem is, I know he needs to go "number 2" sometime so I can't deny him when he wants to go out.
It was 16 degrees this morning and Seymour is a bit of a wimp. He doesn't like rain or cold, which makes me do a happy dance. We usually don't make it further than the edge of the house before he starts returning to the front door. So when he looked at me expectantly, I put my cable-knit sweater on over my cotton capri pj's, threw my sockless feet into some shoes - and prepared for a quick outing. He's going to hate being outside!
Seymour had on his sweater and was preparing for a leisurely walk around the block - obviously we don't communicate well. By the time I got to the street, my body temperature had dropped at least 5 degrees and I could no longer feel if my hand was actually holding the leash. We were in front of my next door neighbor's house where Seymour rewarded me with a few drops of pee against the "doggie calling card tree" and my feet looked like I was wearing pale blue socks. Seymour's tail was high and wagging joyously as he continued to walk and sniff past a few more houses. Soon my ears felt like they were going to break off - well, they would have felt that way if I had any feeling left in my hands. My eyes were watering and the tears were freezing in zigzag lines down my face. Still Seymour pranced! How can a chihuahua in bare paws with only a sweater who is always shaking appear to be enjoying this trek?
When we got about 5 houses away from home, the wind was whistling through my light cotton capris and my sweater was doing nothing more than covering my bloodless skin, I knew I had to give it up. I figured I had given my neighbors enough to discuss for the next few weeks - the crazy woman dressed as if the temperature was going to suddenly rise to 80 degrees - so I dragged Seymour back home. No number 2.
A little later, he gave me "that look" again so I bundled up in my Uggs boots, a sweater and my down coat, lined gloves, a scarf, hat and thick winter pants. With difficulty, I bent down and snapped on Seymour's leash and headed outside, ready for whatever and where ever he wanted to do and go. We got to the middle of my driveway (where none of my neighbors could see how well prepared I was), Seymour sniffed, stood there for a minute looking like he was waiting for a bus, and then turned back around to go home. I refused to let him go in until he did something, so he grudgingly let a few more drops of pee escape in the front yard and happily headed back to the house.
I was having much more than my share of the unexpected and surprise from him today. I wanted routine. I wanted a quick outcome. I wanted number two. I wanted to enjoy watching other people struggle with their dogs - from the warmth of my living room - facing the street. Seymour wanted to go out again.
Even on a normal, cool morning, I never know if he will want to walk to the end of the driveway or the end of the earth. Usually, if I take him out wearing my bedroom slippers, a zippped-up lavendar sweatshirt over flood sweats, and my hair crying for a comb - he wants the long neighborhood walk. In my neighborhood, our houses are so small that no matter where you sit, you have a view of the front street. I like to believe that my neighbors are all looking out of their back windows as I am shuffling by but I also like to believe that I have a forgotten winning millionaire lottery ticket in my pocket - both are an equal fantasy. I will be on view.
Of course, when I take the time to look presentable, Seymour doesn't want to go farther than the end of my short driveway before he is ready to go in. The problem is, I know he needs to go "number 2" sometime so I can't deny him when he wants to go out.
It was 16 degrees this morning and Seymour is a bit of a wimp. He doesn't like rain or cold, which makes me do a happy dance. We usually don't make it further than the edge of the house before he starts returning to the front door. So when he looked at me expectantly, I put my cable-knit sweater on over my cotton capri pj's, threw my sockless feet into some shoes - and prepared for a quick outing. He's going to hate being outside!
Seymour had on his sweater and was preparing for a leisurely walk around the block - obviously we don't communicate well. By the time I got to the street, my body temperature had dropped at least 5 degrees and I could no longer feel if my hand was actually holding the leash. We were in front of my next door neighbor's house where Seymour rewarded me with a few drops of pee against the "doggie calling card tree" and my feet looked like I was wearing pale blue socks. Seymour's tail was high and wagging joyously as he continued to walk and sniff past a few more houses. Soon my ears felt like they were going to break off - well, they would have felt that way if I had any feeling left in my hands. My eyes were watering and the tears were freezing in zigzag lines down my face. Still Seymour pranced! How can a chihuahua in bare paws with only a sweater who is always shaking appear to be enjoying this trek?
When we got about 5 houses away from home, the wind was whistling through my light cotton capris and my sweater was doing nothing more than covering my bloodless skin, I knew I had to give it up. I figured I had given my neighbors enough to discuss for the next few weeks - the crazy woman dressed as if the temperature was going to suddenly rise to 80 degrees - so I dragged Seymour back home. No number 2.
A little later, he gave me "that look" again so I bundled up in my Uggs boots, a sweater and my down coat, lined gloves, a scarf, hat and thick winter pants. With difficulty, I bent down and snapped on Seymour's leash and headed outside, ready for whatever and where ever he wanted to do and go. We got to the middle of my driveway (where none of my neighbors could see how well prepared I was), Seymour sniffed, stood there for a minute looking like he was waiting for a bus, and then turned back around to go home. I refused to let him go in until he did something, so he grudgingly let a few more drops of pee escape in the front yard and happily headed back to the house.
I was having much more than my share of the unexpected and surprise from him today. I wanted routine. I wanted a quick outcome. I wanted number two. I wanted to enjoy watching other people struggle with their dogs - from the warmth of my living room - facing the street. Seymour wanted to go out again.
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