Smells

Ever notice how a smell can take you back to a scene, a time, a situation, a whole segment of your life? And with such poignancy that nothing else can quite duplicate? The scent of Trushay hand-lotion ushers me directly to teen-years, dating, heartaches, love songs, praying for the phone to ring, first kisses. Feelings never felt so strongly ever again. While the odor of Vicks salve transports me totally to childhood, A yellow steel bed, freshly ironed sheets, plump pillows, and Daddy lovingly rubbing my throat and chest and the pungent smell of mentholatum, Then covering it with a piece of warm flannel, pinning it with safety pins to my pajamas. Assured now that my cough would soon cease and all would be well.

Other senses are valued. Sight is a treasured commodity. What a loss if eyesight was taken away. But envisioning a front yard, covered with green grass, dandelions, and an overgrown hedge and lilac bush is nothing-- nowhere near—like what happens when smelling freshly mowed grass and feeling… feeling in the stomach, the gut, the heart, all that that engenders.

A warm summer's day, on all fours in the front yard, soothing sun beaming down on my back, pungent scent of dandelion juice as I pick these treasures for my Mom, gathering them in a haphazard bouquet in chubby, soiled fists. Then spotting the lilac bush, and adding a couple clusters from a low branch, burying my nose, making it tickle, breathlessly taking in the exotic perfume. The scent of approaching rain on the wind as it gently touches my pink cheeks in passing.

Scooting across the lawn intent on my mission of love. Smelling the earth, face down low, finding the best of the yellow blooms. Brushing straggling sun-bleached hair back over my sweaty forehead, already streaked with dirt from grubby palms, nail-bitten finger. Then rising carefully so as not to crush my lovely offering. Noticing green stains on my denim overalls, damp soil clumped on sandal bottoms.

Always the smell of freshly mowed grass gifting me again and again with those childhood days, long gone—but never quite completely—as long as there are warm summer days and newly mowed grass.