Oh, sacred smell

When I was in Germany last year, I found myself thinking over and over, “I wish I could capture this smell” — instead of a snapshot, a bottle I could stuff it down into and take back home with me.  Whether deep down in the forest, in a smelly subway — or at my grandparents’ house.  The power of smell — it must be that subconscious nature of it, that you ingest into your soul, without even realizing.  Smell has a way of transporting us back, even turning us into a different person, that we no longer are now.  It can remind us of who we were, of who we are.

My grandparents’ house was still intact as it always was — all the decorations, dishes, photos, bedspreads — all that made it home — that sacred place, untouched, unbroken, complete.  I relished every moment I had there and remembered all the special times spent — really lived — there — from the neighbors across the street, to the balcony and the drying laundry, to the china, to all of those childhood — and later — times.

I gathered many important items, although not enough, packed them in bags and brought them back.  When I arrived home and opened them, I realized that I HAD brought the smell back with me, that sacred smell.  It sounds crazy, but I’ve kept the bag packed and, sometimes, open and take a big breath.

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