scentered thoughts
Scents flow through our existence like the passing of time. There one minute, gone the next . . . and yet somehow atemporal. Yes, I did just equate time and atemporal . . . deal with it! A scent can bring a sense of peace, joy, or sorrow rushing through your mind, unintentionally.
Some memories I've smelled recently:
~sharpie: writing a 24 page letter in sharpie
~cut grass: trying to start the lawnmower without the primer button :/
~seasoned salt: making popcorn growing up
~pine trees: cutting firewood in the mountains with grandpa
Yesterday evening, I was running through the neighborhood and I could smell the grills cooking; such a summertime smell! I started thinking about how so many of my memories are tied with a certain scent.
Some favorite scented memories:
~smelling the lilacs with my mom
~smelling the ozone after the rain with my dad
~watching my brother dip toothpicks in cinnamon oil
As I ran, memory after memory came to mind. People and places that make up my story. Smells that tie us together. Scentered thoughts. They are scent-centered and censored through a filter of our senses.
Some funny memories of scents:
~pickles and nerds: only the really crazy try those in combination
~dr. pepper: spraying cans in small, now sticky, spaces
There are some scents I pray I never have to experience again (room 6 . . . enough said), and there are some that take me back in time. I have a childhood memory of what I term "the sweet stench of filth." In the tropics, when the trash is put into dumpsters or stacks along the road, the heavy humidy and intense sun cause a strong odor with a sickly sweet tinge. This scent, although somewhat repulsive, makes me feel at home and is thus, oddly comforting.
Some memories I've smelled recently:
~sharpie: writing a 24 page letter in sharpie
~cut grass: trying to start the lawnmower without the primer button :/
~seasoned salt: making popcorn growing up
~pine trees: cutting firewood in the mountains with grandpa
Yesterday evening, I was running through the neighborhood and I could smell the grills cooking; such a summertime smell! I started thinking about how so many of my memories are tied with a certain scent.
Some favorite scented memories:
~smelling the lilacs with my mom
~smelling the ozone after the rain with my dad
~watching my brother dip toothpicks in cinnamon oil
As I ran, memory after memory came to mind. People and places that make up my story. Smells that tie us together. Scentered thoughts. They are scent-centered and censored through a filter of our senses.
Some funny memories of scents:
~pickles and nerds: only the really crazy try those in combination
~dr. pepper: spraying cans in small, now sticky, spaces
There are some scents I pray I never have to experience again (room 6 . . . enough said), and there are some that take me back in time. I have a childhood memory of what I term "the sweet stench of filth." In the tropics, when the trash is put into dumpsters or stacks along the road, the heavy humidy and intense sun cause a strong odor with a sickly sweet tinge. This scent, although somewhat repulsive, makes me feel at home and is thus, oddly comforting.
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