For the past few weeks, we and our guests have been treated to a delightful quirk on our way in the front door, and nothing whets the appetite quite like the noxious vapors of rancid grease warmed by the Arizona sun emanating from a grease trap

gaskety

.  So far, the lids to the grease trap have extended above the ground by several inches, and the lids haven’t fit , so each day as the temperature rises, so does our breakfast.  That problem is behind us now, as yesterday a team of four guys came out, made some unkind remarks about engineers, took the lids down to a reasonable height and cut them down to fit  where they belong, addes a gasket to each one, and presto!  No more horrifying stench.  (Stench actually used to mean a pleasant smell in Old English, and I’ve been interested to discover that words descibing smell have gradually become more and more pejorative over time.  Think of odor and smell.  They’re still right on the fence.  It’s only a matter of time before we’ll be using the word bouquet or perfume to describe the grease trap.