11:00. Time for bed after a busy day. Or so I thought. I smelled him before I saw him bound into the room – Cyrus, our Rotti/Mountain dog love, had been skunked! If you’ve ever smelled that smell, you know it. It’s what I think Crayola’s “raw umber” would smell like – burnt oil. It penetrates your nostrils making your nose curl up and your eyes water. I knew right away the day would last a little longer.

Although many people swear by tomato juice, previous experience and a quick internet search suggested a mixture of hydrogen peroxide or white vinegar, baking soda, and dish detergent as an alternative bath for removing skunk odor. Of course we were missing the key ingredient of peroxide or vinegar, so Allan made a late night run to the Acme. He returned armed with all the necessary supplies, and we opted to use the vinegar so as not to bleach Cyrus’ beautiful black coat. Two baths later, where we pretty much all received a soaking, we were left with a soggy doggy who now smelled more like vinegar. One whiff and I was back in my childhood kitchen dyeing Easter eggs.

The next day a friend suggested burning sage to take the odor out of the house. She brought over a bundle of the stuff that looked to me like a giant stogie. That seemed to be work for a while, until I decided the sage was burning too slowly and started a mini bonfire. The smoke alarm went off, but at least the fire department didn’t show up.

It’s been a few days now and things are pretty much back to normal. Thank goodness!

This past weekend my husband, Allan, and I traveled to Cleveland, Ohio to visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Every once in a while we would hear a reference to the museum, look at each other, and say, “We really should go there some time.” Music has always been a part of who we are. I grew up in a family of musicians where recordings of Bach, Beethoven, and the Beatles were housed side by side. When we were dating, Allan and I spent many hours listening to The Eagles, Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, Hall and Oates, The Grateful Dead, and many others. So we set a date, booked a hotel, and we were off.

The museum was well mapped out so it was easy to maneuver from one room to the next and among the six levels. And while there was so much to see and hear, everything about the experience helped me deepen my understanding of the importance of mentors in our lives. In almost every exhibit visitors could find something about the early influence of gospel and blues, and even hear current artists talk about those performers whose style and music helped to shape their own sound. I was reminded of the anecdote Shelley Harwayne tells about Paul McCartney’s acceptance speech for one of his Grammy awards where he thanked his mentor, Buddy Holly. We all need mentors in our lives whether we are children, students, artists, writers, or parents (to name just a few).

Throughout the museum I was awestruck to see on display the thinking and planning behind many of the songs that I love. On carefully preserved notebook pages with ripped edges, scraps of hotel stationery, or backs of envelopes, visitors could view handwritten lyrics or chord progressions in the artists’ own hand. They were messy, with words deleted and substituted, and perhaps questions scrawled in the margins. What a treasure to share with young writers! Although much of the writing I do now is done on the computer, I was reminded that my best thinking often comes from my notebook lists, jottings, and drawings. It is in a notebook that I can often flesh out an idea or find the essence of what I want to say.

If you ever find yourself in Cleveland, I would highly recommend a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. You’ll discover a lot about music, and maybe just something about yourself, too.