There are certain smells that evoke a memory, or rather, the hint of a memory. Sometimes that past moment is very slight and etheral. Sometimes that past moment is burned onto the stoney pallet of my mind. I like it this way. I like exploring the new-found, past feelings and emotions that surge into my head. Was I rational in that moment? Was I happy or grumpy? I wonder if Grandma is happy where ever Grandmas go when they leave us. I like to think they go to the kitchen and bake some cookies then serve them to us like Neo in the Matrix. "Hi grandma, I miss you."
It is a rare day indeed but can anyone, anyone! not remember the day Suzy Piccolo threw up in second grade and the janitor we thought was santa claus in the off-season came in and tossed down that...stuff: sawdust and amonia and medicinal rank? Strong smell = strong memory I think, in a way.
The scent of Armour All zooms me to a summer night as a teenager. The parents, I have to believe against better judgement, bought a 280ZX and allowed their son to cruise the streets of greater Austin, Minnesota. Duran Duran played on the radio, a new hit coming from my favorite (still too) movie: a James Bond. A great friend, who would later tell me over a two hour rant about his latest mushroom trip, was riding shotgun. Life was unbounded and I was free in that moment. I relish that thought.
It seems that most if not all of these memories are from long ago. (I am old now so is that a given?!) However, I am hoping I have seared into my head a new smell/moment. It is the scent of hot, pasty grease and the whistling of air across metal corners. It is the slight resemblance to a hot exhaust manifold with new oil dripped on it. But it, the smell, is unique.
It is a rare day indeed but can anyone, anyone! not remember the day Suzy Piccolo threw up in second grade and the janitor we thought was santa claus in the off-season came in and tossed down that...stuff: sawdust and amonia and medicinal rank? Strong smell = strong memory I think, in a way.
The scent of Armour All zooms me to a summer night as a teenager. The parents, I have to believe against better judgement, bought a 280ZX and allowed their son to cruise the streets of greater Austin, Minnesota. Duran Duran played on the radio, a new hit coming from my favorite (still too) movie: a James Bond. A great friend, who would later tell me over a two hour rant about his latest mushroom trip, was riding shotgun. Life was unbounded and I was free in that moment. I relish that thought.
It seems that most if not all of these memories are from long ago. (I am old now so is that a given?!) However, I am hoping I have seared into my head a new smell/moment. It is the scent of hot, pasty grease and the whistling of air across metal corners. It is the slight resemblance to a hot exhaust manifold with new oil dripped on it. But it, the smell, is unique.
This morning my HVAC, first floor heat was turned on for the first time. Like all of the milestones in this project, it is just one of many, a mundane check mark on the Gantt chart. Done. Next. But this is a shell now turned to a conditioned space. It breathes people. And though it is apparently a smoker of sorts, I am warmed (sorry, they just smolder in my head if I don't get them out) by the anthropomorphic feeling that this is a living, breathing house now. A final half day of painting and it will be exuding color and some character. Four weeks and the structure of it's heart, the kitchen, will be lined with marshmallow and taupe and soapstone grey with adornments of stainless steel.
I know one can't force a memory. Those things are of their own accord. But I'd still like to be able to recollect this morning some morning many mornings from now.
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