About a decade ago, my classmates from the two-roomed schoolhouse that I attended Grades 1-8 had a reunion. Among other amazing aspects of that occasion was a compilation of questionnaires that one of my energetic classmates had compiled. It was fascinating to see what memories "stuck" from those years so long ago. But one memory persisted above all others - bringing potatoes along to bake on the door ledge of the round coal/wood stove that supplied our heating in the winter. The potatoes were marked with chalk with the student's initials, as all potatoes are not equal under the law, and placed strategically to catch the heat. All morning long we would smell the mouth-watering aroma of baking potatoes. It was enough to distract one from one's readin', writin' and 'rithmetic!
I mused about aromas again this week with the quick blitz of lilac season. There is simply nothing like the smell of lilacs to transport me back to childhood and if you meet another lilac lover, you sense that immediate bond of softened tone, almost misty eyes and rapturous "ahs". And its usually girls who are doing the reminiscing about the lilac scent. But the other day, a friend said it was her father's favorite flower. I was startled! I realized I had been shelving the lilacs with feminism!
Scents are so evocative. Some doctors even encourage families of comatose patients to bring in all kinds of aromatic objects to lure them back into the present. I remember one story claimed that cinnamon is what revived her husband.
Whatever the scientific basis, I celebrate the nose and all its attendant nostalgic baggage!
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