Of all the senses, my olfactory one is the winner. Unless one is a "nose" for a perfume house or a bloodhound, I'm not so sure what benefits come from having a great sense of smell. Although, I have read that scent memory is one of the strongest.
Thirteen Scents:1.
Chanel # 5. I know, I know, one of the most recognizable scents ever, right? My Nana used to wear this, and as she got older, she wore more and more of it. When she died, all her items that had been in storage still smelled of it. You'd think every time I sniffed it at the fragrance counter, I'd smile. Nope. I hate that scent. Overpowering, invasive, and selfish.
Hmm... kinda like my Nana.
2.
Eucalyptus. There are hundreds of these trees (native to Australia) in
Goleta, the town I grew up in. Even so, I didn't really notice them until I went to
UCSB for college. They lined the walkways and bike paths there. Every day I would ride my bike to campus, and smell the lemony, green of the trees, and see my world in front of me. Every time I go back for a concert or whatever, the scent surprises me again.
3.
Turkey roasting in the oven. Back in the day, Mom would get up at 4 or 5 in the morning to get the bird in the oven. I would wake up to the most tantalizing smell, and have to wait hours before actually getting to Thanksgiving dinner. The relatives would come over, my Nana would bring her fabulous, homemade roasted nuts, but still, nothing would compare to the crackling skin and juicy white meat on my plate when we finally sat down.
4.
Bleach. We used this to clean the latrines when I worked at Pilgrim Pines, a summer camp (and where I met
Torn) in the San
Bernardino mountains. My mother didn't trust me with the wash at home (she said I'd break the machine), so I'd never used bleach before. And didn't realize it would wreck the best pair of 501's I owned. I rarely use it now, but even the scented stuff has that unmistakable odor underneath.
5.
Cigarettes and Herbal Essence shampoo. Both my parents smoked like chimneys when I was growing up. They still do. Mom was the one that got physically close to me though, hugging me, sitting on my bed, reading me bedtime stories, kissing me goodnight. Those two scents, mingled together, will always make me think of her; even though she doesn't use the same shampoo anymore.
6.
Sawdust. My father was always making something. The garage was his special place. He had his desk out there too, and what seemed to me, thousands of paperback novels on shelves he made. Most of them were boring to me; all war and westerns. After he left my mother, I don't think anyone used any of the tools in there again.
7.
Japanese incense. I can't be more specific about what it was. I know every time I went to a temple, I'd smell it there, but it was also somehow tied up with the humid nights during the summer. The humidity there was insane, something I'd never before nor since have experienced. I don't know if it magnified everything, but whenever I catch a whiff of that particular scent, I think of heavy, thick heat, and loose clothes, and a slower time in my life.
8.
Mr. Sketch scented marker, in Licorice. I don't think they called it huffing back then, and really, it was just a pen, but I couldn't stop myself. Mrs. Hurst's class, 1975, I'd never seen such a thing before! Debbie Swanson and I would fight for the black pen, just for the chance to sniff it. What little weirdos we were.
9.
Red. This is 80's all the way, but I still love it. I'd go to
Zelo's or
PCDC (Pacific Coast Dance Company), all decked out in black with big hair and big earrings, and this perfume. It's by Giorgio of Beverly Hills, and is too strong. Way too strong. But still. It was my secret weapon. Men were always asking me what I was wearing. Oh man, those were the days. I know, most of you would have a hard time imagining it, but I certainly enjoyed my twenties.
10.
Strong coffee. I hated coffee growing up, didn't like coffee candy or ice cream, or even the smell of it. I think I was 25 before I started drinking it. But, Dad always had a cup every morning, in his thick, Marine mug. It had the dates of his service on it, and when I was sick, he'd let me drink tea out of it. He always put milk in it, and that scent, mixed with his Dry Look hairspray (he had a comb over of magnificent proportions), started most of my days.
11.
Diesel exhaust. When I was in high school, I sang in the
Acapella choir. Every year we would go "on tour," which meant taking a week off from school, driving up or down the coast of California in two rented buses, and sleeping on high school gym floors. I remember waiting to get on board, our bags already stowed, and the sounds the bus made as it idled. Later, I traveled to big cities in the states and beyond. Always that same smell. Diesel exhaust means I'm in a new place, full of adventure, somewhere other than my little town.
12.
Sweet peas. Our back fence was always covered with these. My mother's favorite flower, and one of mine. Delicate flowers, but in a big bunch on the dining room table, or sometimes even on the bureau in my room? Wow. I don't think there's ever been a synthetic reproduction of this flower's scent that's even come close. Sadly, every attempt I've made to grow these myself has been a failure.
13.
Fermenting grapes/wine. This isn't the same as wine from a bottle. And it's not the same as that icky alcoholic smell that comes from under the mat when you sit at the bar. No, this is from working at the winery, and many wine tastings. It's a raw, earthy scent. Something humans have been inhaling ever since wine began. I loved walking through the cool barrel room, surrounded by the French and American Oak; the varietals written by hand on the side of each. It's all possibility at that point;
nothing's a sure thing. Kinda like meeting someone new, having shared that first kiss, but the future is unknown. God, I love wine.
The above image was inside the email.
