I was feeling lazier than usual today, if such a thing be possible, so for Sunday dinner I fixed hot dogs for Hub and the visiting Zappa.  Gourmet hot dogs, which means I cooked them on the stovetop instead of microwaving them in the bun.  Not that I would ever resort to that. . . . .

 

Hub likes his buried in diced onions, so I diced an onion the size of a small bowling ball and left the kitchen to do some pressing chores, ie read up on some blogs.  After a few minutes I noticed a really strong onion smell.  I guess that particuilar onion was a powerful one; the whole house now smells like fresh onion. 

 

I hate onions, so I assumed the stench was an omen, an portent, a definite indication that I should go outside and do some yardwork.  I revved up the mower again and took off.  I love to mow the grass, and it was a perfect day to do it.  Covered with Bulllfrog #50, so my skin wouldn’t bubble, I set off happily.

 

After about an hour, I noticed that the outdoors now smelled exactly like the indoors. 

 

Where do all those wild onions come from, anyway? 

 

But while I could not stand the smell inside the house, I do like it outside.  The combined smell of fresh-cut grass, wild onions, and flowers is inimitable.  Nobody could ever successfully bottle it exactly.  That smell, and lightning bugs.  It’s summer.

 

It won’t really be summer ’till June 21, but as far as I’m concerned, once that smell starts making the rounds of yards here and there, and once the stars come down from the sky to play in the treetops, summer is here.