My husband's recent post started me thinking about sense memory. I was going to try to write something similar, but most of the memories I have connected with songs are... complicated
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I think the smell I most associate with early years is the smell of alcohol on my father's breath, cigarette smoke, and the the sweet, woody yet musty smell of long closed drawers in my grandmother's bedroom.
I suppose I ought to remember some of those same smells. I think the cigarette smoke was so thoroughly a part of our house that I didn't even notice it. Now, when I visit my parents, I get all freaked out. Even as a smoker, seeing my dad chainsmoke inside is surreal and scary.
If your gardenias ever bloom, will you please alert me? I'll just hang out near them. Yeah, I know hanging out by your door sounds strange, but it HAS been that sort of week.
I love the smell of gardenias too, actually. There is still a bush just outside of my grandmother's house that I bury my nose in each time I pass by, and it reminds me of a million different summers all at once. But the smells that remind me most of my parents' house is freshly brewed coffee on Sunday mornings.
Garnet's right--you really should write more often, Jenna.
My dad always had instant coffee. I never knew it could be yummy until I was all grown. I think I might be turing into the thinner, hipper (oh, and female) version of my dad. Sort of. Yikes.
I think I'm going to make writing here a Friday Night Thing. This seems to be the only time I'm up to it.
I have a relative who made a poor life's choice. The people in the town where he lives said "well, you know, trash is trash". He felt stung about this to the core.
You're not remotely trash, and trash is not about singlewides and doublewides.But I know sometimes it's hard to feel good about oneself in any event.
Gladiolas! Maybe you need to have them in your life again, to be overwhelmed by the scent. As to hog fat? Hmmm....maybe you need some black eyed peas with hog jowls, to make a new year's beginning.
Spring always feels more like the new year than dead cold New Year's Eve. I think I'll throw myself a little personal party to celebrate, pork fat and all.
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I suppose I ought to remember some of those same smells. I think the cigarette smoke was so thoroughly a part of our house that I didn't even notice it. Now, when I visit my parents, I get all freaked out. Even as a smoker, seeing my dad chainsmoke inside is surreal and scary.
If your gardenias ever bloom, will you please alert me? I'll just hang out near them. Yeah, I know hanging out by your door sounds strange, but it HAS been that sort of week.
Reply
I love the smell of gardenias too, actually. There is still a bush just outside of my grandmother's house that I bury my nose in each time I pass by, and it reminds me of a million different summers all at once. But the smells that remind me most of my parents' house is freshly brewed coffee on Sunday mornings.
Garnet's right--you really should write more often, Jenna.
Reply
My dad always had instant coffee. I never knew it could be yummy until I was all grown. I think I might be turing into the thinner, hipper (oh, and female) version of my dad. Sort of. Yikes.
I think I'm going to make writing here a Friday Night Thing. This seems to be the only time I'm up to it.
Reply
You're not remotely trash, and trash is not about singlewides and doublewides.But I know sometimes it's hard to feel good about oneself in any event.
Gladiolas! Maybe you need to have them in your life again, to be overwhelmed by the scent. As to hog fat? Hmmm....maybe you need some black eyed peas with hog jowls, to make a new year's beginning.
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