sense memory
I was at the mall Sunday with my daughter and her godmother. I bought a Yankee Candle. I am not a Yankee Candle person. I avoid smelly stores at all cost. No Bath and Bodyworks for me, thank you very much. Everything in those retail establishments has an underlying odor of plastic.
But we were in the Hallmark store, because Jessie needed to buy cards. The Hallmark store sells a wax of the month, and this month it’s powder pink Fresh Cut Roses. I couldn’t leave the store without buying a little jarred candle. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I was buying a sense memory.
My grandmother, my Nana, wore Avon’s Roses, Roses perfume. It came in a frosted glass jar with a stamped metal lid. I would smell it on her, mixed with the scent of her sweat and the smell of her kitchen. When I was little (5 or 6), I would snuggle up next to her on the couch while she watched Lawrence Welk. She didn’t mind when I absentmindedly sucked on the nylon string ties of her housecoat. They tasted perfume-y, exactly like Roses, Roses.
I would sneak up to her bedroom and pick up the jar from the dresser, furtively unscrewing the lid and inhaling the heady smell of artificial roses from the white whipped creme inside. Sometimes she would let me dab a little on my wrists. To me, there was no better smell. Roses, Roses was the smell of being safe, of being loved unconditionally.
Now I have the smell in a jar, approximate burn time: 25 - 40 hours.
But we were in the Hallmark store, because Jessie needed to buy cards. The Hallmark store sells a wax of the month, and this month it’s powder pink Fresh Cut Roses. I couldn’t leave the store without buying a little jarred candle. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I was buying a sense memory.
My grandmother, my Nana, wore Avon’s Roses, Roses perfume. It came in a frosted glass jar with a stamped metal lid. I would smell it on her, mixed with the scent of her sweat and the smell of her kitchen. When I was little (5 or 6), I would snuggle up next to her on the couch while she watched Lawrence Welk. She didn’t mind when I absentmindedly sucked on the nylon string ties of her housecoat. They tasted perfume-y, exactly like Roses, Roses.
I would sneak up to her bedroom and pick up the jar from the dresser, furtively unscrewing the lid and inhaling the heady smell of artificial roses from the white whipped creme inside. Sometimes she would let me dab a little on my wrists. To me, there was no better smell. Roses, Roses was the smell of being safe, of being loved unconditionally.
Now I have the smell in a jar, approximate burn time: 25 - 40 hours.