There is a recurring smell that invades the senses at times in the water. Salt water has an aroma of its own, but on certain days, it combines with a scent of the ocean that is hints of flowers. Sure that flower may be the seaweed, or fish or algae blooms occurring, but it reminds me of how intense smells can be. Ocean breeze, salt air; whipped by winds. It strikes me as funny how it will remind me of things good, and not-as-good.
The mimeograph paper smell of recently ditto'ed sheets. I hated that smell. It always meant a quiz, or test, which 90% of the time I failed to prepare for. It meant stares from the teacher, as I would search my mind for what could possibly be the correct answer, hoping for some devine intervention to arise, and stand by my side and aid in my need. More often than not, it was a devine whack to the head of "shoulda, woulda, coulda". It took alot of non-lethal 'whacks' for doofus-boy to get the picture.
Smells of my Grammar's hale, (house). She always baked. Cooked up a storm. She would make Portuguese Sweet Rolls, with enough butter to kill an army, but were sooo good. On Shrove Tuesday, she always made Malasadas. The sweet doughy bun/roll of coffee delights.
My Tutu Kane's (grandpa) lighter. He smoked his pipe, and had this cylindrical shaped lighter that slid open in the middle to light his pipe. The Ronson's Lighter Fluid smell is a smell that drags my brain right back to 1965-1977. Everyday of that time, I can sense his being here when that smell is in the air.
Momhmark's smoking in our car on the way to school when I was in grade school. I got so sick of smelling Tareyton's, that one day I told her - "I wish you'd quit, 'cause I dont want you to die of Cancer"
She quit that day.
Saltwater running out of my nose in the middle of the night. After a good surf, some residual splashes always leak out, warmed by body heat. Weird, friendly sensation.
The medicinal smell of the dentist/doctor/hospital. It used to conjure up "shit, what did I do to myself Now" thoughts, but now it brings floods of memories both rescued, and final.
Somehow, smells of flowers always relax me. The sweet scent of ginger, pikake, even the blooms of mock-orange hedges, all delight my brain. I had a bunch of ginger in my truck while I was at Firecom, and when I got in this morning, it felt good to walk into that cloud.
But reality smells of nothing.
It repeats and endless drone of repitions, that boarder on putrid.
Aroma of it is not unlike erasure shavings. A mistake. Correct it. Not white-out correct smell.
But to correct it with bold strokes of new ink.
Change the color?
Use a fatter width pen?
Maybe pencil, so it isnt permanent.
Does not really matter the choice.
Because in the air,
something will linger.
Aloha.
7 comments:
Ahhh...smells. You know how I feel about them. But I'd have to disagree-reality does have a smell-the very ones you remember fondly-and not so fondly-are only smells of an older reality.
Nice post.
I love the smell in my driveway after it rains, wet dirt, I suppose, but it's my favorite.
You brought back memories of my own...warmed ocean water falling onto me from hubby's nose while we were...you know!
It used to get me grossed out, but looking back it always makes me laugh. Those were the good old days, spending days playing without any responsibilities!
Playdough.
Prang watercolors.
A fresh tin of Band-aids. Can't get them in a tin anymore, so the smell isn't quite the same.
Great Lakes smell: zebra mussels dying on the beach. Not so pleasant.
Brownies fresh from the oven. All better now.
Are these posts the result of catching up on sleep? Or deprivation?
You're a great read, always. A fantastic tour guide, as well.
But when you're the poet...Damn.
Ah, the smell of Old Drum tobacco from my lat husband's pipe. The smell of pakalana, and pikake. And the smell of pulehu meat, mmmmmmmmm, so ono. Most of all the smell of my late husband's after shave. Such memories.
It seems we all have a smell thing goin’ on.
The smell of my great Aunt Carrie’s basement. All musty and yet clean at the same time, her husband was a jeweler, he housed his equipment in the basement. I suppose that was the attraction really, polishing stones, the smell of the saline torch, the excitement of casting metal.
My dad’s zippo.
My dad, Zest soap, tobacco and fresh out of doors air.
You've done it now...stirred up the senses.
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