I can still recall the “smells” of my youth. When I smell these smells, it takes me back and I can’t help but smile.
My house was full of smells. First and foremost, the smell of cigarettes. Mom and Dad smoked.
So did my grandparents, aunts and uncles, all of their friends, and my brother when he was hiding behind the garage (but that’s another story). Everyone smoked!
When my mom had my aunts and friends over to play cards at night, I could barely see them through the haze.
Another smell was coffee. Everyone drank coffee, and the pot never went dry.
One of the happiest moments for my parents was when they bought their first self-timing Bunn coffee pot so they could wake up to the smell of a steaming hot pot of coffee. That coffee pot was working overtime – and full from sunup till they went to bed.
“The coffee’s always on,” they would tell their friends, and it was.
Another smell I remember came along with the soft voice of Bob Ross, my mom’s oil paints. A few times a week she’d be in the living room with an easel on an old blanket covering the burnt orange shag carpet and Bob Ross on the TV.
My dad would tape the episodes on the new VCR so mom could watch them any time, and she’d pop in a tape and paint away. Occasionally, I would join her with my mini-easel, and together, we’d paint “happy little trees.”
I was reminded of the power of smells when I went for a walk with my youngest daughter one morning. I often stopped to smell flowers, and she asked me, “Dad, why do you do that?”
As I explained, I brought a little white and gold flower to my nose and was instantly a six-year-old kid again at my neighbor Hopie’s house. That flower was the smell of her favorite perfume and it smelled like happiness.
I hated the smell of cigarettes, never minded the smell of coffee or my mom painting but miss the smells of being a kid. Then again, I really don’t have to if I stop every now and then and smell the flowers.
