"And Now, a Word From Your Sensory Organs"

(Photo stolen from these guys)

Hello, I am the Senses Taker.* It's time to check your senses. Check your sensitivity at the door. Sense, not Sensibility.  Y'know? You have five of 'em. Six, if you're a cop, a woman or Haley Joel Osment, who sees dead people, and somehow seeing is counted twice?

Ahem, pardon me.  Back on track now. Get up and open a window or door, if you can.

What do you see?

What do you hear?

What do you smell?

What do you feel?

What do you taste?

Note the time and post it in the comments.

Consider your senses taken. Now why can't the government get it done this easily?

*     *     *     *     *

I don't see a lot, because the moon won't come up for hours. I see a few stars, but the humidity of the evening has blocked all but the gaudiest stars from sight.

I hear frogs and crickets. I heard cats fighting earlier, but that's no surprise.

I smell the pungent, sickly-sweet smell of irrigated fields. I smell orange blossoms from my old yard across the street when the breeze stirs a little.

I feel the last vestiges of cold spring nights. Soon we'll sweat all night long and dream of chilly April evenings.

I taste cheap red wine.

It is now 10:05 p.m.  Your turn.



*I must acknowledge Norton Juster in his book The Phantom Tollbooth for the origin of the name of this character.

Comments

[Jason]

I immediately noticed the Phantom Tollbooth reference!

I see neighboring houses and the lake.

I hear my daughter skillfully practicing her violin and my son making funny grunting noises downstairs.

I smell the beginnings of a fried fish dinner. :(

I feel my leg tingling, because I am sitting on it.

I taste the flavor left behind by Wheat Thins.

4:45 pm.

[Kit]

I see my bare mattress, because I was in the middle of changing the sheets when I plopped down to read a blog post (had to take a break, LOL) and a curled up sleeping kitty that looks like she's smiling.

I hear said kitty snoring softly, K.D. Lang singing, an occasional cricket chirp outside and the indeterminate hum that is my suburban neighborhood at night.

I can't smell anything, because my sinuses are plugged tight from all the pollen.

I feel my sore back and achy knee, sinus pressure, and the release of knowing that all the kids are peacefully asleep now.

I can't taste much either (sinuses again). More's the pity.

It's 12:37 am. Need to go to bed. (Need to MAKE the bed!)

I like this exercise.

[Kyddryn]

Huh...You should read my post for today...'cause I think I answered you without even reading this post first. Does this mean we're on the same track? Thinking the same things? Uh-oh - you're in trouble!

Shade and Sweetwater,
K

[Elaina Avalos]

I see houses and street lights.

I hear sirens. They appear to be heading to this neighborhood...

I smell wet grass and dirt. The sprinklers just shut off.

I feel hot air. The ceiling fan is turning but it's just not cutting it.

I taste cookies and cream ice cream.

It's 2219.

[all things BD]

I see the lighted back yard of my neighbors, who have built an oasis including pool, fountains, hot tub, and outdoor kitchen and fire pit.

I hear birds chirping, the fountain next door, and kids laughing on the street.

I smell freshly cut grass, the gardeners having been here today.

I feel a light, warm breeze, a relief from the 95 degree heat today.

I taste Diet Coke.

It's 9:30pm.

[Bob Cleveland]

This one's easy. The answer is, mostly, ME.

[Meg]

It is 10:30 a.m.
I SEE my laptop and a PolyCom speaker phone. I am on a mind-numbing webinar dealing with FMLA, ADA, and other sexy HR laws.
I HEAR - actually I can barely hear the lawyers speaking because their microphones are not turned out loud enough.
I SMELL an excuse to read blogs instead of looking at boring powerpoint slides.
I FEEL like these are two hours of my life that I will never get back.
I TASTE nothing now, but hope to be tasting a burrito or some tacos in about two hours.

[Ellie]

I see my laptop. And a fog-enveloped day out the window.

I hear the clock ticking, and some kind of unrecognizable humming. And the keys of the keyboard clicking.

I smell coffee.

I feel ready to get back to work today.

I taste coffee.

It's 8:36 a.m.

[Da Goddess]

I'm glad I'm not the only one who's read Phantom Tollbooth.

As for the questions: Um...I'll have to get back to you on that one.

P.S. Great Laugh-In tie in with the pic

[Chesapeake Bay Woman]

I see the six a.m. sun trying to make its way over the horizon as its rays dance across the sky and across our creek. (And two cats trying to make their way in the house.)

I hear a chorus of cardinals and robins announcing the arrival of a new day. (And I hear the cats meowing because they're starving.)

I smell salt water and cool, damp air after last night's thunderstorms. (I smell cat food coming out the can.)

I feel cold air that has hope of growing warmer as that sun rises higher in the sky. (I feel a cat or six rubbing against my ankles.)

I taste toothpaste, because I just brushed them. (I do not taste cat food, although I'm surprised as much as I serve it up.)

Great exercise!

[Laurie Ann]

I see the public storage building at Highland and Santa Monica and circling police helicopters.

I hear the fan in the living room.

I smell something funky in my kitchen. Better take the trash out.

I feel sticky. It's 90 degrees in my apartment.

I taste minty freshness from brushing my teeth.

It is 12:45am. All is swell.

[Cactus Petunia]

I see the pile of construction debris outside the studio door that I forgot to drag out to the curb tonight.

I hear the rythmic roar of a freight train that sounds as if it's running through the back yard, even though it's a half-mile away.

I smell the faint scent of plum and cherry blossoms, with just a whiff of cut grass.

I feel the neighborhood dreaming in the cool April night air.

I, too taste cheap red wine, with a chocolate chip cookie chaser.

It's now 12:34 pm