Dragons in the Pantry

I noticed the beginnings of the offending smell during school hours on Monday. On Tuesday Ben mentioned something that "smells like our old hamster" in the pantry. By Thursday, Jamy was taking dramatic breath-holding measures whenever circumstances required that he rally toward the offending closet.

But hours are quickly filled and schedules demanding and I did not have enough minutes in the day (and was too weary to make use of them by the night) to deal with the offensive, albeit organic, smell of rot coming from our kitchen storage.

Friday came and, busy or not, something had to be done. Heaps of recycling were disassembled and smelled and the breadmaker thoroughly examined. Canned goods and dog treat bins were sniff-tested and cracker boxes checked for peculiarities. Nothing.

And then, there it was: a slender, yellow cardboard box with beautiful Chinese figures tracing its surfaces. A gift from some of our world traveling friends, we had tasted its delicacies and left the rest for another day. "Dragon Cakes" they were called. Small, round balls of paste and flour and many mysterious something-or-others.

Dragon Cakes don't age particularly well, it turns out, and they were alerting us to that fact with an unholy scent. They found a new home in the trash, but despite my best coffee bean efforts (a trick I learned post-house fire last summer), the smell lingers still.

Almost two weeks later (This would be a good time to start formulating appropriately biting "Get your act together, Cinderella!" comments, as you'll find them useful in the next few minutes.):

It's late and I'm tired. I shuffle my way to the pantry to scavenge something that could resemble a tomorrow's-lunch for my hard working husband. A yank on the door and I am rudely, cruelly assaulted by a worse-than-dead-hamster smell. Bob catches a whiff, too, from his spot across the room.

"What on earth...? The smell is back! I thought I took care of that ages ago!" I start my search from where I left off upon the discovery of rotting Dragon Cakes. I yank, I haul, I complain, I shift things around.

There it is. Of course. A long forgotten bag of what were once potatos. They've deteriorated so thoroughly that their putrid juices are seeping through the bottom of the bag and into the wicker basket that holds them. Mush with eyes ~~ that's all that remains. I scoop them, basket and all, into the waiting garbage bag and leave the pantry to air out overnight.

Somewhere in my tale of questionable housekeeping there's a lesson on what happens when things are left to fester in us. Tiny offenses can become overwhelming problems. A thought sneaks in, too, on what happens when we are distracted by false solutions or Dragon Cake issues instead of pushing forward until we find the real source of the stench in our hearts, our minds.

I could spend some time ruminating there (I probably should if the care I take of my soul is anything like the attention I pay to my kitchen storage!) but I've just realized that in my haste to route offending vegetables I forgot to finish making Bob's lunch. Mindful meditation will have to wait for another metaphorical moment while I make up for the missing lunch with a spectacularly filling dinner. Unfortunately, we'll have to do without the potatos.