As I sit here with my beloved grandson on my lap sleeping I bury my nose in his hair, trying to commit the smell of him to memory. It reminds me of the strong connection of memory with scent. Honeysuckle takes me back to Kansas City as a 9 year old, tasting the sweet nectar and loving the scent. Cherry blend pipe tobacco takes me back to a time when my big brother was still my hero and first love. Chanel #5, which I carried in my car for a year after her death, will always bring back mom, dressed to kill and ready for a night on the town with dad; and of course, do I smell a little Bay Rum in there on dad? I kept a dashiki in the 70’s that I could bury my face in and bring to mind an old love, until I came home one day and the new husband had taken it on himself to throw it away. Hmm, the beginning of the end for a fiercely independent woman? Probably. There is an elusive smell here in Oregon that I haven’t given a name to. It’s a little like licorice , but not fennel. If I could just isolate it from the rest of the greenery around it, I could solve this. I think the smell of Oregon was the first thing that drew me to it. The rich loamy scent of the forest and that new rain smell that begs you to walk a ways
Why I’m hereI will use this blog to reach out creatively, document the things I'm doing, what makes me happy, excited, hopeful, and maybe sometimes what makes me sad. I'll try not to bore you.