There are times when something throws me back in time and it’s jarring to think where I was versus where I am. These moments frequently catch me off guard and can be triggered by something so simple as a certain smell or sound. It may seem simple, but the trigger is loaded chock full of memories waiting to be released into my mind in a torrent. Music tends to toss my brain around like a tennis ball for a jack Russell terrier. A few notes and I’ve got a decades-old ear worm that plunges me into what feels like a whole other life.
Smells do the same thing. I am particularly sensitive to smells, so triggers into memory lane can be pretty intense. From before I can remember, my family made the trek from Georgia to Ohio to visit my extended family. Each house we stayed in had a distinct smell. It wasn’t something short term like walking into a house where someone has just baked chocolate chip cookies, but longer lasting to the point that the smell of each was strongly associated with that place. I could lose my sight and still be able to tell where I was by the smell. One whiff and…
My grandmother’s house smelled like a blend of real butter and old wood. Years and years of the same sink into the fabric of the house until it is inseparable. The same brand of soap beside the sink… the same recipes cooked in the kitchen… the same people in the same place… That “sameness” pushes the connection of the senses further and further into the place. A whiff of one of those scents transports me back to the eleven year-old with a ponytail, sitting on the black padded barstool next to the roll-away dishwasher. Porcupines are baking in the oven and a Holly Hobbie glass is carefully placed next to me. It’s the one with the little kitty looking at Holly Hobbie, who is swinging on a homemade swing. I know it’s that one because that one is my favorite. There are pictures that my grandmother painted on every wall, mostly of flowers, though I really like the one of the frozen pond that all the children are skating on, bundled up against the northern cold with coats and scarves and mittens in the brightest of colors. If I watch it long enough, they almost seem to move.
If I was patient and not too pushy, I might be able to help put seed in the bird feeder. A rotating fan on the table pushed the white lace curtains back against the breeze coming in from the open windows, fluttering them back and forth in a windy pattern. Flowers line the corner of the dining room with a rosary plant winding its way through and around the windows and all the other plants. My aunts, uncles, and cousins are mostly within the block and come to the call of a family dinner, all laden with favorite dishes of their own to share. There is a box of pizzelles on the table that my aunt made this morning. She even used the vanilla! I shift my towel up around my shoulders like a cape and smell the familiar scent of the laundry soap and…
I open my eyes and look down at the towel I’m holding in my hand. My mind is reacclimating to its current surroundings and I remember where I am and what I’m doing. The towel… it smelled like that day after playing in the pool and waiting for everything to be ready for our family to have our picnic. Thirty years ago in a single smell and a moment lost in time. It might seem like another life in another world, but it’s in there, deep in my mind and just waiting for something to come out of nowhere and throw me back in time – just for a moment…