WHAT DOES LIFE SMELL LIKE?

 

WHAT DOES LIFE SMELL LIKE?

CAUTION – The following words contain many descriptions that may or may not affect those who suffer from severe airborne  allergies

I have always been emotionally moved by smells. From sweet babies to cinnamon toast. From air fresheners to laundry detergents. From Christmas trees to bakeries.

I love entering a house where someone is cooking. I once read that frying an onion as you begin to prepare dinner makes everyone anticipate that something good is happening in the kitchen. It always works on Martin, but after that great introduction to a feast, he is probably confused when I serve leftovers and cooked onions.

A side note – the pre-dinner aroma buildup is negated by the smell of burning bacon.

I don’t love the smell of apple juice. When I was a young mother and apple juice was a regular staple for infants, Stephanie drank it a lot. And, being a baby, she spit it up a lot. Her clothes and mine often carried that pungent scent. And my nose/brain formed a lasting opinion. I neither drink nor purchase apple juice, although it is allowed in my house when grandchildren bring it. Because they are my grandchildren.

I like the smell of Fabuloso. It’s a very inexpensive cleaning product found in stores like Family Dollar or Dollar General. Basically, any stores with the word “dollar” in their names. When I spray Fabuloso on the counter, it already smells like a clean kitchen before I even wipe it down. That’s a good cleaner.

I don’t spend a lot of time (or any time) digging in flower beds, trimming bushes, or planting things. But I do love the smell of freshly cut grass or a fire in the chimenea as I sit on the porch and enjoy the smells of the outdoors.

Jeanie was my first Avon lady, the local distributor of scents, and my dear friend. After a season of wearing Heaven Scent (marketed as a light scent for young women), I began to sniff the sample packets of colognes and perfumes Jeanie provided, and discovered Imari, which became my favorite. I still wear Imari, but Jeanie no longer delivers, and my Amazon driver never has wanted to talk to me about whether my new lotion is working well or whether my makeup covers my blemishes.

When I drive to Sam’s Club to buy large boxes of Lay’s potato chips, Cheeze-Its and Fudge-striped Cookies for my grandchildren’s snack drawers, I pass the Market Street Feed Store. It is a barn-shaped building that sells items such as Purina Rabbit Chow, bottles for feeding calves, and chicken feed. I know this because when my dad was trying out his dream life as a farmer, that is where he went to purchase supplies for his animals. And sometimes he would let me go with him on a Saturday. The smell was powerful – hay, animals, sweaty men in overalls. Sixty-five years later, I drive by that store regularly and remember that smell.

Maybe one day I will stop and go in. I wonder…will it still smell like Saturdays with Daddy?