Nic Narrates

You know when you suddenly smell something, like a certain lotion or a candle or chocolate chip cookies, and you’re instantly reminded of a person, a place, a memory? This phenomena has always held a particular interest to me in that I’ve always had a strong sense of smell. And I love that something as arbitrary as a scent can trigger our brains to remember the thing or person for which we have known it to be linked.

Like, for example, I was at the Jewel and they had their spring flowers outside on the sidewalk as I walked in. The minute the smell of geranium hit me, I was whisked away to the front yard flowerbeds of the home where I grew up, where every Mother’s Day my mom and I would plant geraniums and marigolds and petunias. And just like that, I’m smiling.

It’s the association of strong black coffee that takes me to my grandparents’ kitchen with the swivel chairs and the wooden tongs to grab the toast from the toaster. The kitchen where they’d wait each morning with their newspaper sprawled out on the table for my brothers and I to wake up when we’d visit as children.

It’s the blueberry Lip Smacker that I used while on vacation at Disney World at Christmastime with my family over a decade ago. The second I put it on, I’m picturing the Christmas trees along Main Street, the light parade, and Space Mountain.

It’s the uncanny power of Old Spice and leather combined that finds me missing my grandpa. With one step toward the front hall closet where his leather coat hung for all those years, it’s as though he’s there beside me again.

It’s how the smell of Banana Boat tanning oil evokes my mom as she slathered her beautiful and enviable olive skin with the stuff, while I fussed with my sunscreen, as we’d sun ourselves on our back patio each summer before strange moles and crow’s feet became a part of our dialect.

It’s the Lagerfeld that only one man I’ve ever known has worn. Distinctive and warm, it instantly makes me weak in the knees.

It is these and a handful of other scents that bring into memory the echoes of voices, the shadows of the faces, trips, and homes that have come and gone. And in a moment, they’re each with me again, with me still.

Filed under: must be a sign, whimsy by Nic