scent memories

 As someone that doesn't really use incense or candles or anything, I feel this blog post will be a little lacking. However, this will not stop me.

Scent is important. If you know anything about it, you know that we use it to eat, to love, to identify, to do pretty much all the important things we do. A main component of memory is scent.
"... while buried in the hair of one’s wife it might remind a husband of the desire he felt for her on their wedding day." - Green
In this blog post, I will be examining my own sensory perception of different scents.

As I mentioned, I don't use incense, but my close friend does. When I go to her room, I feel calm, content, maybe a little excited beyond that. I used to not really like the smell of incense; all of it smelled too strong for me, too earthy and smoky. Now, I just think of her. It makes me think of her immediately, filling my senses with the memory of tangled limbs and laughter. Instead of pulling a, perhaps, more uncalled for facial expression, I smile.

Lemon. When I was younger, I actually used to eat lemons. My mom was baffled by it; aren't they too sour? It was even stranger because I didn't crave any other extreme flavor. No spice, nothing too sweet. I hold one in my hand that's been in the fridge from something I cooked almost a month ago now. That bright, fresh scent is still there. It reminds me of the cleaning spray my mom prefers at home, in Louisiana. Wrinkling my nose at the strong scent, but appreciating the lack of a more chemical smell. When that connects, other memories surface, pulled forward by habit and immediacy. Other memories of my mother, talking on the phone about my hair that was recently dyed pink. More memories of cleaning, even from when I was too young to truly operate a vacuum.

I love floral scents. My favorites right now are rose and jasmine. I was outside a lot as a kid, but that stopped once I hit tweenagehood. And in the backyards I grew up in, the only flowers out there were honeysuckle, which my brother used to suck the nectar out of while my sister and I played on the rickety swingset. Roses and jasmine? Not really present. However, I still get a nice heady feeling when smelling them. Perhaps, I'm being reminded of, not a scent memory but, instead, a memory of things associated with rose. It's a perfume scent, which relates to maturity (which, as we know, relates to a desire to achieve that maturity (similar to eating bitter foods)). Perhaps I'm attracted to that maturity. Or perhaps I'm attracted to it because it's associated with cleanliness, but still doesn't have that awful chemical smell. Either way, there's no concrete memory that comes to me when smelling this scent, just that heady, all-consuming feeling of contentedness. 

I wanted to include something that's commonly considered a nasty or bad scent, as well. In the reading, this often involved scents that didn't particularly make you wrinkle your nose, but, rather, scents that were alluring and used to distract people (mainly men) from the godly way. In this case, I chose dirt. This also relates to the story about the man who studied the holy text and ate only dirt, in which his teacher told him that soon people would be attracted, not repelled, by the scent of his breath. Dirt doesn't really smell /good/, but not bad either. It's a full-bodied scent, one that, in surplus, can really knock you off your feet. It's everywhere, so it can be hard to pinpoint moments that are dirt-covered. For me, I'm reminded, more slowly, of the hill in downtown Baton Rouge, the city where I grew up. When I was younger, I would roll down the hill near the Canes Center, getting grass all over my clothes and a little dirt in my hair. When I smell the dirt, I imagine the grass and a sunny afternoon, with dirty clothes and little hands. 

"By its very nature, fragrance is fleeting and elusive. When we smell a pleasant scent and it brings about in us feelings of well-being, the scent itself may be almost imperceptible. It seems to enter us at the fringe of our awareness. Once inhaled and inside us, aroma can either calm or excite, arouse or soothe. Too much of a pleasant odor may repel us, while a mere whiff may unaccountably draw us toward its source." - Green

This exercise was an interesting survey into mindful smelling, something that, as we learned, can actually fight back against dementia. I would imagine that intentional sniffing isn't most people's go-to health hack, but it might become mine. It's quick, easy, and often results in a nice smell lingering in your nose, or at least in your nose's memory.