What is that smell?

When John came home from work last night, around 9, he adopted a seriously puzzled look and asked, “What is that smell?”

Me: I have no idea. I can’t smell it.

John: “What do you mean? It smells strongly of turpentine in here.”

Me: Nope, not getting the faintest whiff.

With great determination to find the source of the chemical smell permeating the middle section of our home, John came up empty-handed.

Me: Maybe the neighbor is doing some work on his house.

John goes outside, is gone a while, and returns with a verdict: "You can't smell the odor outside."

The time to participate had arrived, so I hauled myself off the couch, went outside, and took a deep breath. Not surprisingly, the outdoors smelled as it should. But, upon re-entering our home, I could smell an unmistakable, must-be-toxic, chemical odor. Great, now if we all wake up, we'll wake up brain damaged. My hero says, "I won't stop until I find the source of the odor." He searched high (the garage) and low (the mechanical room on the lower level) to no avail. So we called our local gas company, and the emergency operator offered to send someone out.

An hour later, a gas-company technician rang our bell, and before he even stepped foot in our home, caught a whiff and announced, "That's the sewer. They're cleaning it in your neighborhood." Ah, so that's what the men and trucks are doing up at St. Clair and Fairview—12 blocks away. Yowza. We can sleep easier knowing the source of the odor. The NSP guy checked our gas lines nonetheless, as long as he was at the house. Guess what? We had a small gas leak, which the dude fixed by tightening a screw. But, again, yowza, we had a gas leak. When do you think we would have found out about it? Would the carbon monoxide detector have gone off? Does the carbon monoxide detector even work?

Fortunately, after all that, we all woke up this morning. Overheard at work: "So, I have this friend who is staying at a hotel this week because the sewer lines on his block are being cleaned . . ."

Wow, me too, except the city never informed me or offered to put me up. Even though we weren't within the radius, a few blocks "downstream" still gets the odor.

". . . and the city's note advised taping down the toilet seats so the sewer rats that are flushed out don't come up your toilet, which is often what happens."

Well, that's a bit of information I didn't need to know.

[*In January 2003, when we were still at the Niles house, the city cleaned the sewer lines with chemicals. We received a letter from the city informing us of the dates and that we could call an office if we'd like hotel accommodations during this time. Naturally, I thought, how bad could it be? Well, plenty bad. The odor in the house within the first hour of work was like some fresh hell. Fortunately, we were still able to get a "smoke-free" room in a fleabag Days Inn on University, which is where the construction company was putting us up. We checked out early and decided to risk any brain damage coming our way. Let's just say that it's an experience I don't hope to repeat any time soon. ]

Weekend plans: housework (paint blackboard, install new outlet in staging area), yardwork (seal up mouse holes, apply Round Up to weeds in sidewalk and steps), entertain (the Patels are coming for Sunday brunch), spend quality family time (kids have soccer on Saturday morning)

Eating: stone fruit while it lasts (nectarines are my favorite) and homemade soup (Tuscan kale and farro soup—minus the kale—from Lunds’s Real Food magazine)

Reading: Ward Just’s latest, Forgetfulness

Listening: Beck’s remixed Guero, Guerolito (not such a huge fan, but this is the only way you can currently find the album)