Another big trigger for me is the smell of motor oil and gasoline. My grandparents had a service station. I spent a lot of time there when I was growing up. There is a distinctive smell to the place that is hard to define exactly. It is motor oil, gasoline and cleaning products- as close as I can get, anyway.
When my Grandfather died a year ago, I got a bedspread from the house. I had a difficult time washing it the first time- it smelled like the station, and was the final link to him in a way. I kept pulling it out of the plastic bag I had it stored in, and smelling it. I had Spouse smell it finally- he made the car smells connection. He grew up in a service station too- his dad owned one. It definately is a comfort smell for both of us.
I remember when I was around 5 standing out by the gas islands between customers. I would stand close to the pumps and inhale deeply. I loved the smell of gas fumes, and didn't realize that huffing them is a good way to kill brain cells. I just thought it smelled good. Kind of like markers used to smell good. Not fruity- just yummy chemically. Then inevitably my Grandpa would yell at me to come in and get away from the gas pumps. Killjoy.
He would also let me have a candy bar or a soda for a kiss. One or the other. Unless I was very persistent. It drove my mother crazy- she would come and get me and I would be all hopped up on rocket fuel. Lucky thing she didn't serve either at home- I escaped my youth with great teeth. I credit her diligence and a small fortune spent on preventative care. My cousins weren't nearly as lucky, and had really bad teeth to go with very bad eating habits.
I could also get a sip of their drinks in the evening if I asked. Grandma drank cherry vodka and 7Up. It was yummy. Grandpa drank Old Granddad and 7Up. It was icky. But both of them beat the taste test over Dad and Mom's preferred vodka martinis- which were vile, evil things. And Dad's beer- which, being Ranier, was pretty nasty stuff too.
It's just hard to let those kind of places go- and yes, I probably do overanalyze it. But the older I get, and the more of these things slip away from me, it gets a little more difficult. I suppose I should feel liberated in a way. But I really don't. I just feel like my recognizable points are vanishing, and I'm not creating new ones with any real resonance. All of my adult landmarks for the most part are pretty nomadic. I've been happy plenty of places- but never the way I was when I was so much younger. Now it's more that certain people are the important factors.
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On our trips to my grandmother's farm in Pennsylvania, we used to cross the Burlington-Bistol Bridge. It was only a dime as opposed to the quarter for the Tacony-Palmyra, so my father would drive the extra distance up bone-rattling US-130 to get to Burlington, NJ (it's on okay town, famous for its coats). The rusty 4-lane high-arching bring landed us in Bristol, PA. The smell of the place made your eyes burn and set you up for car sickness when you hit the rolling fothills of the blue mountains. I'd forgotten all about that smell until my first winter in Istanbul, when I was staying in a fundamentalist/gypsy/mafia ghetto where people heated their apartments or tents and cooked by burning anything flammable -- wood, styrofoam, old clothes, etc. On days when conditions were just right, you couldn't see across the street through the yellowish soupy haze. The first time I encountered this, I stepped outside and promptly threw up. Ah, memories.
I really love the smell of freon coming out of car air conditioners. It reminds me of those old 79 lincolns (which were driven into the ground) and their air conditioning vents...days with Mom running errands, family road trips smashed between Mom and Dad inthe front seat because Mom didn't wantto make the transition to the back seat, learning to drive...lots of memories. In Nonverbal Comm this last semester they say scent is the strongest tie to memory for women. They make a good point..
There's more- I spend about 1/4 of my time trying to identify odors/memories- I must be 1/4 bloodhound or something. It's funny, t'ain't it?
See you tomorrow Andrea!
Funny, I spend a quarter of my time trying to figure out how to incorporate chocolate into every meal. Must be a 1/4...well I don't know what I'd be. I'd rather be a bloodhound though! You you tommorow, too! Oh, and I changed my name to Anderarama, if you don't mind calling me by that. Thanks! :)
Andrea is a biscuit face! And that's my story- I'm sticking to it.
BTW- celeb sighting this morning- Max Baucus in the airport with a green shirt on. (I wanted that to have a Clue cadence- Max Baucus, in the airport, with the rope...) He looked sleepy.
I used to love the smell of gasoline as well. And rubbing alcohol. I still smell the bottle of alcohol if I'm using it.
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