The Love of Skunk

Skunk is one of my favorite smells.  It's right up there with coffee, baking sweets of any kind, freshly-mowed grass, old musty antique shops, and Maggie Mae's wonderful "doggy stink."  The love of skunk began oh so long ago, when I was just a little stinker myself.  

In the summer of my seventh year, my mother's roommate, Hazel, (I guess she was my roommate, too) took my mother, my sister, Judy, and me to visit her family on Spooner Lake in Wisconsin.  There were no interstates in 1952, just two-lane back roads through small towns and big cities all the way to the lake.  Until Hazel, I had never been more than three miles in any direction away from Monument Circle, the epicenter of Indianapolis, so going on a trip that would take two whole days in a car was beyond anything I could ever imagine.  I had a difficult time containing my enthusiasm. For weeks before we left, I was what Hazel called "a handful."

A Handful

Someone, generally a child, who is

 chock-a-block with excitement and energy; is
 in perpetual motion, who never, ever shuts up,
and tends to drive someone, generally an adult,
C-R-A-Z-Y!

                                              --Wikidikipedia

Hazel had met my mother in church and after a short friendship, she thought it would be a good idea if we all moved in together.  No one asked me what I thought about the new living arrangements, but at the time I was five and still carrying my "stinky blankey" everywhere I went, sucking my thumb--I finally stopped at twelve, which explains the buck teeth--and wetting the bed.  I definitely had an opinion, but no one could understand me through my tears, my thumb stuck in my mouth, and my blankey wrapped around my head.  Well, I was five.  What do you expect?

The new leader of our home, a self-proclaimed old maid, would have been an excellent matron at a girls' boarding school. Strict, no-nonsense, and great at keeping everyone in line.  She was a bit hefty, always wore dark-colored, mid-calf dresses with clunky shoes, and her hair was tight curls close to the scalp.  She wasn't particularly fond of children, which didn't bode well for me.  My sister, Judy, loved Hazel but she has always been a suck-up.  Just kidding, Judy.  No, really I am.

My most favorite memories from my childhood are the two trips we made to Spooner Lake when I was seven and eight.  Hazel was on vacation from work, and during our two weeks away from home, she forgot she was the boss of me.  I was free to be a kid.  I had permission to be a handful. She even let me love on her.  It was only four weeks total of my childhood, yet those were the "good times" that I remember.  

All the way up to Spooner and all the way back to 16th and Broadway, skunk after skunk crossed the road without looking both ways.  So, why did the skunk cross the road?  To get some lovin' on the other side.  Makes sense to me.