The Scent of Now

I'm not the first to notice that the senses are strongly connected to memory. It probably even has a name, and suttonhoo probably knows it. Me, I'm too lazy to look it up.

In my early teens, I visited my brother in the hospital after he was in a traumatic accident. I had to don the paper scrubs and booties, and a mask. Many years later, I bought some paper masks at the hardware store to wear while doing some sanding, and when I put one on, I was immediately transported back to that hospital room.

And it's not just smell. Sounds, too, can transport me back. The generous use of cowbell on Motley Crue's first album still takes me back to my bedroom and the "You Pick the Story" Dungeons and Dragons book that I was reading when I played that audio cassette over and over and over.

So I was thinking today about what the Scent of Now is. There are three. First, the hair and body wash that we got at the baby shower that we're still using for the boy's baths. He only holds that smell for a day or two, but it just smells like him and his fuzzy wittow head.

Second is the laundry detergent we use on his diapers. It smells even more like him because I get a noseful several times a day, every day.

Third is the smell of melted plastic I get every time I use anything that's been in our dishwasher lately. Two or three weeks ago, a black plastic slotted spoon fell to the bottom of the dishwasher and was melted into oblivion on the heating coil. Ever since, though we scrubbed the heating coil clean, removed all trace of the spoon, and have run load after load of dishes since, everything still smells of that melted plastic. I've even got to the point now where it's not even really unpleasant. I raise a glass to my lips, and it's just sort of comforting and familiar.

So I think in twenty years, it will be those smells, two kinds of soap and burnt hard plastic, that will propel me suddenly and forcibly back to these days with Thumper. Ah, memory.