The Minkoff Minx {Go Ahead…Make Your Move!}

"I get very passionate about what I think is right."-Hillary Rodham Clinton

Observation

I used to associate certain smells with NaNa. A pharmaceutical mix of Pine Sol, Mentholatum, Ben-Gay, mingling with kitchen smells of sauteed onions and garlic, sausage and meatballs frying in oil, starchy rice and the overlaying hint of musty old curtains. Lest not forget, a waxy smell of the solitary burning candle placed at the feet of Jesus and Mary statues in the spare bedroom. The house was an assault to the nose, however, it had a comforting aroma. Now it is not so much the smells that I associate with the old woman, although these are horrible permeating scents of the old…no need to describe these ripe offenses to the senses. But now there are sounds that I hear that cause me to crinkle my face and shrink into myself, very much as fingernails down a chalkboard would make anyone cringe. So too does the sound of the creaking door and floor boards as she’s wheeled into our part of the house. That scuff, scuff, scuff of my fathers suede bottomed slippers on the floor as he feebly pushes her to her destination.  The water trickling in the sink, a sort of hollow pitched sound as the limpid stream of water disappears into the wide open drain. And then the worst sound of all…the paper towel being torn in half. Although, she is very large and could warrant a full sheet of toweling. My father scuff, scuff, scuff to the roll of cheap paper towels and proceeds to tear the sheet in half. This is a piercing annoying sound that enters my head and makes my jaw tighten. No, it is not the pre-planned rip of perforated paper I speak of, but a grating destructive shriek of torn fibers. It is an excruciating few moments coupled with the hollow drips and feeble scuffles. It is my wake up call. Another day has begun. These seem to pass rather quickly this year, is it because I am sort of trapped in my situation? I use these sounds very much like a pathetic scratch placed on the wall of a cell, to mark the days as they change from light to dark, hot to cold. These sounds are my ticks of time and they drain my energy and weigh down on me, like so many rolls of cellulite laden fat that clings to my ass and thighs.

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