I remember the way my Grandmother smelled. Probably not how you think, though. I don’t remember the scent of perfume that she wore or how she smelled when I hugged her. I wish I did. I just don’t have the nose for remembering those sorts of things.
Rather, I remember the way she smelled things. When I would stay overnight at her house as a teen and get ready in the mornings with all my various hair and body care products, Grandma would say to my Mom, “I just love the way the bathroom smells after Kathy gets ready in the morning!” Now, every time I spray hairspray and body spray, I think of Grandma saying that to my Mom. And I smile.
When Grandma and I walked around the neighborhood or out in the garden puttering around, she would often say, “I smell rain coming.” And sure enough, she was right.
When Grandma brought her freshly washed and folded clothes home from the laundromat where she worked, she would comment, “I love the way fresh clean clothes smell.”
Mom makes similar comments as she goes about her daily routines: “I love the smell of pinto beans and ham hock cooking on the stove.” “There must be honeysuckle nearby. I can smell it on the breeze.”
Since somehow I don’t have the ability to remember the scent of people, including my Grandma, I’m so glad I do have the wonderful memories of how she smelled things.
And I’m glad that my Mom states out loud those aromas that bring her pleasure. Because every time I smell those same things, I hear their voices and feel their joy in appreciating the scent of something wonderful to them – things that remain wonderful to me.
Oh, how sweet is that aroma.