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The human mind is a wondrous creation if for no other reason than the curveball of reminiscence it throws at us on occasion. You can be walking down a hallway, smell the subtle saltiness of Play-Doh being rolled out by eager young hands, and feel the shift of remembrance in your stomach, suddenly rushed to your pre-school classroom and a moment of smushing different-colored dough together just to see what happens. Or catch a whiff of feet and sweat and you might be back in your high school locker room, reliving past glories and failures, celebrating the friendships and waxing nostalgic (bitterly, sometimes) over what might have been.
This happened to me twice this past week. Monday, I had the opportunity to go fishing with my grandfather, father, and uncle. As we walked along the banks of the river, I noticed the air was scented with an amalgamation of smells: honeysuckle, wet grass, and fish. Though understated, they brought with them the comfort of a hundred hours walking the banks of rivers and the rabbit trails of local woods. It doesn't matter what's been happening in my life, the stress melts away on warm spring days that smell like fish.
The second instance happened just today. I walked in after a long day of work, tired, ready for my summer break, and was suddenly surprised by the smell of peaches. Instantly, my mind wafted back to my childhood days filled with peach cobbler cooking in the oven, peeling peaches on my grandparent's front porch in Coolidge, and the day I found out what happens to your nose if you smell a peach to closely and rub the fuzz into your cheek. The smells rejuvenated me and I walked into the kitchen to find Jessica cutting fresh peaches at our table.
It was picturesque - perfect, this moment - and I know the image of my beautiful wife smiling, slicing peaches in the hot afternoon air will be with me until the day I die, tucked back in some shadowy recess of my mind, ready to spring forward and surprise me with yet another charming memory, more proof I've lived a pretty dang nice life.
There's a certain perfection that permeates those odd, aromatic moments.
This happened to me twice this past week. Monday, I had the opportunity to go fishing with my grandfather, father, and uncle. As we walked along the banks of the river, I noticed the air was scented with an amalgamation of smells: honeysuckle, wet grass, and fish. Though understated, they brought with them the comfort of a hundred hours walking the banks of rivers and the rabbit trails of local woods. It doesn't matter what's been happening in my life, the stress melts away on warm spring days that smell like fish.
The second instance happened just today. I walked in after a long day of work, tired, ready for my summer break, and was suddenly surprised by the smell of peaches. Instantly, my mind wafted back to my childhood days filled with peach cobbler cooking in the oven, peeling peaches on my grandparent's front porch in Coolidge, and the day I found out what happens to your nose if you smell a peach to closely and rub the fuzz into your cheek. The smells rejuvenated me and I walked into the kitchen to find Jessica cutting fresh peaches at our table.
It was picturesque - perfect, this moment - and I know the image of my beautiful wife smiling, slicing peaches in the hot afternoon air will be with me until the day I die, tucked back in some shadowy recess of my mind, ready to spring forward and surprise me with yet another charming memory, more proof I've lived a pretty dang nice life.
There's a certain perfection that permeates those odd, aromatic moments.
