Get A Whiff Of This

My nose knows. But it won't tell my brain.

There's something fishy going on. You know how a smell can trigger a memory? That's what started this puzzle. The pieces don't fit. My snoot has put me in a snit. Yesterday, I stopped by The Devil's Playground after taking My Little Pony to his elbow therapy. I was looking for an item in the deli case that is never in stock. I've only found it once: Mozzarella Roll with Prosciutto. That's because Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a true gourmet. I tried this item a few months ago, and now the cupboard is bare every time I search for it. The Devil's cupboard. Mine is piled with items that may or may not rival the 4-year-old Ranch Dressing of my mom's pantry.

Right next to the gaping, empty space where this delicacy belongs was a buttload of Mozzarella Roll with Spicy Salami and Oregano. Normally, I'm not a fan of salami. But I was hankerin' for a Mozzarella Roll of some type, and this was the next best thing. When I got it home, I sliced off two slices. Yes. I cut the cheese. I know you wanted to say that. I made a big glass of iced well water, and settled down for my snack. As I lifted a slice to my mouth, I got a big whiff. I'm not sure if it was the oregano, or the spices in the salami, but I was transported to another place and time.

I was very young. Preschool age, methinks. I was sitting on my little wooden stool with the back that you could fold down and make it a step-stool instead of a little chair. It was blue and red and yellow. I loved that little stool. I could carry it around and always have a chair, and even have a kind of toy to play with, what with converting it to a step-stool. I was not in my trailer-house. I was in a big field up at the lead company property. My mom and grandma were picking blackberries. It was OH SO HOT. Sweat rolled off my forehead. The sun beat down. We walked through a brambly area down a faint path. I sat on my stool. Mom and grandma picked and talked. My mom had a large, tall Tupperware clear container with a black plastic harness-looking handle. She filled it with blackberries, and then began on one of several assorted tubs that she had brought. Grandma would make blackberry cobbler later that night. My mom never made cobbler. She made jelly. It was OH SO HOT. Just in case you'd forgotten. The cicadas made a deafening noise. And there was that SMELL. The smell just like that pinwheel slice of Mozzarella and Spicy Salami with Oregano.

I wish I knew what was in that field that smelled like my cheese roll.