Back to Reality

Today feels more like normal. Yesterday I was so tired from the weekend that I am surprised I accomplished anything. Friday night everyone got here and we stayed up way too late. Saturday we had to get up early to go to the cemetery, then lunch, then back home to move furniture. Then back to pick up chairs and set up for the party. It was great - everyone did a really good job. Sunday was my first time to teach an adult class in forever. I don't think I did so hot, but K was with me and she said I did fine. She also got to see her dad, which was, umm, interesting.

No other big news. I didn't get the job I interviewed for, but I am actually OK with that. A friend of mine who used to work there gave me a heads up that I might be in for a really weird environment. I did get the china cabinet moved, which is a big deal. Now I have no excuses for not making progress on projects. Well, except that this weekend is family reunion in Branson.

Only other item of note is that I have really good reason to believe that B has started smoking. I will have to get creative to prove it, since I can't smell. Not sure I like the idea of having to be sneaky with my own kid, unless it turns out he started it.

Oh yeah, and the squatters have moved on. I think. Patrol car was next door again Sunday night.

Fragrant Dreams

Another weird dream last night. I have been trying to remember how to tell it in a linear fashion, but I can only come up with bits and pieces with recurring elements, but no overarching story line. Some of what I can remember:

• We seemed to live in a normal neighborhood, although everyone was extremely familiar with each other, from knowing our dog's name, to thinking nothing of walking in to each others back yards, to having heard a funny story about one of my children before I did. A little discomfiting.
• A bunch of us went to some kind of event that seemed to be a combination of street fair, movie-set Main Street, and staging area for an excursion of some kind. At some point, we took a detour to the back lot, where we saw the "seamy underbelly of a small town festival", and where I got separated from my family.
• Then suddenly my "guide" and I were back in some kind of shopping center, where he encouraged me to make a life-size Grinch at the the Build-a-Bear kiosk. I declined.
• Then we were back in the staging area, where the tour staff where sorting out each families' belongings, which had gotten all muddled up after unloading from their excursions (ours seemed to include a duck boat). Again, very discomfiting, because that level of familiarity meant that people were not only looking for their own items, they were so helpful in pointing out that basket of dirty laundry must belong to so and so, and recognizing that striped towel as belonging to the Ketterman boy. By this point I did not like some of my neighbors so much anymore.
• The guy who had been my guide seemed to be laughing at my discomfort with the whole scene, but then he must have took mercy, because he gave me a little hug as he handed me a duffle bag and pointed out where my family was.
• I remember that he was wearing a light blue polo shirt and that he was very fit. When he hugged me, he smelled awesome. I waved to L, and then turned back to give the guy another big hug just so I could sniff him some more.
• Then I met up with my family and we went home to have a backyard barbecue.

Oh That Smell

Well crap. On a night when I was exhausted, at the beginning of the week when I really needed the sleep, I woke up halfway through the night and never quite went back to sleep.

I know why though. I had a dream. In my dream, I was going out for the evening with Him. Not sure where we were going, but we were dressed up. At some point we decided to go to a low-rent gambling place. We got separated. When we met up again, we hugged and he smelled amazing. I think that is what woke me up, and everything that came after was me trying to get back to the good part of the dream. It must have been the smell I was chasing, because he was being a bit of a jerk. There was some fence-climbing, and a fight over a hammer, and a break-up of the impromptu band over creative differences. At some point during the meeting with the owners of the racehorse I leaned over and caught a faint whiff, but then it was over.

I am annoyed this morning for several reasons. First, I am tired. Second, I am annoyed that in my dream I was following him around waiting for something that wasn't likely to happen. It was an interesting dream otherwise. Third, when I am tired, I am grumpy. I don't want to be grumpy, so instead of spending my commute to work trying to analyze the dream, I am going to think about all of the other people I have known who smelled good.

Starting with my dad, who always smelled like work and outdoors, in a good way. And Brent H, who usually smelled of Polo, even when he was sweaty :)

Do You Smoke?

When I could still smell, I had a very good sense of smell. With many things, I could smell it before I could see it. The smell of pot is one of those smells I almost always smell before I see. While I was never a big pot smoker, when I smelled it, I always looked to see if I could figure out where it was coming from. I did this because it can often be amusing to be the straight person among the drunk or stoned. I never really cared for the smell of pot, but I did like when it signaled that things might be about to get interesting.

On the other hand, I used to love the smell of a freshly-lit cigarette. I was never a big smoker either. This was partly because I always had other things on which to spend money, and partly because the only time smoke smelled good was right at first. Stale smoke, on the other hand, is not a good smell at all. 

I used to spend my share of time in dive bars and pool halls, which are bad enough as far as stale smoke, spilled beer, and BO. But the worst of course was the morning after. I'd come home after a night of work, followed by a few hours playing pool or closing down a bar. I'd crash. I'd get up to get ready for school or work. I would sit up carefully, then stand and walk slowly to the bathroom. About the time I would think maybe I was going to get by with just a headache, I would step into the shower. If I was going to be sick, this was it.

Maybe because the smells of hairspray and grease and smoke and beer and whatever were just there when I woke up, they were part of me. The fact that they were all combined, and they were all a day older, and they were capped by a hangover, didn't register for some reason until my hair got wet. Then it all came back. The big hair and the small skirt, the beer and the shots, the cigarette held to keep track of where my fingers were when I caught a good buzz, the sounds of music and pool and voices, the greasy breakfast eaten late or early, depending on how you looked at it. Yep, if I was going to be sick, it was that smell of water on morning after hair that usually caused it.

Once I made it out of the shower, I was usually good to go. Another day older, as clean as I was going to get, and hoping things might get interesting again before the day was over.

Funnel Cakes

Went to my first baseball game of the season besides B's parks and rec league.  After we passed out 4000 fans, we got to watch the Razorbacks beat Louisiana Tech 5-4 in overtime.  It was a perfect night for baseball - not too hot, decent seats, a friendly crowd and a close game.

At one point we were walking through the crowd and I heard someone say "Mmm, funnel cakes."  Besides L and B getting to come to the game with me, the only thing that would have made it more perfect would have been to be able to smell the ballpark smells.  Well, at least the good smells, like sausage dogs and funnel cakes, but not the spilled beer and BO of a sold out crowd.

Honestly, nothing much could have annoyed me about this night.  It really was a perfect baseball night.

Horses in Spring

Wow, that caught me off guard.  I saw a picture of a horse in a small grassy pasture and had an immediate desire to be somewhere I could ride, accompanied by memories of all of the smells that go along with horses and riding just for fun.

I can't remember a time when I was a kid that we didn't have at least a handful of horses, one of which was always considered mine.  Sometimes we rode to help with work, sometimes we rode in parades or rodeos.  Those times were always enjoyable, but my favorite times were the times I rode just because I could.

After a long winter of not riding, I couldn't wait for the days to be long enough and warm enough to ride after school.  My friend Brandie would get off the bus one stop before mine, get her horse ready, and head to my house.  She got there just as I was getting saddled up.  We only had to let our parents know that we were riding, and the rules were easy - close gates behind you and be home by dark.

Sometimes we rode in the wide grassy space between the highway and the fence.  Sometimes we crossed the highway and took the road that led to the creek.  Sometimes we rode along the edge of the 100-acre hay field that separated Brandie's road from mine.  It didn't matter where we went, we always found a place to let our horses run part of the way.  After a long winter of not riding, the horses were sometimes a bit skittish and always ready to run as much as we would let them.

Never failed, we would wait as late as possible to head home, and usually came loping down the lane at the last possible minute.  But it didn't matter how late I was, the other rule was to always take care of horse and tack first.  That's the smell I remember most - the "after" smell of riding as I brushed out a sweaty coat, the smell of warm leather and the peculiar tang of a damp blanket as I lifted my saddle back up onto the rack.  Walking back from taking my horse to the pasture, I might finally notice the good clean smell of a spring evening.  I would take off my boots and wash my hands as instructed upon coming into the house, where the smell of dinner usually hid the faint scent of horse lingering on my worn out jeans.

Now, trying to separate the smells from the memories, I am remembering the smell of horses, and horse things, but thinking more about freedom, and being young, and doing something just because I could.

Backroads and Honeysuckle

Signs of spring so far:
the return of the birds
allergies
Frostee Treats (I can hear them, but have yet to see them on our street)
Get Yur Crawdad signs
strawberry shortcake at the Bulldog
and of course, blooming things (except for those poor naked crepe myrtle trees).

Everywhere, things are blooming.  I saw honeysuckle the other day and remembered how much I used to love the smell of honeysuckle.  We used to have a whole section of our back fence covered in it, but my husband took it out because it was ruining the fence.  (He also cut down the forsythia bush and mowed over the tulips, but I'm not bitter.)

Honeysuckle is not one of those smells I would want for shampoo, or perfume if I still wore it, as it is wa-ay too sweet.  I remember it was best enjoyed on a day when I took the backroads - windows down, because it was not too hot yet, road trip music on the stereo.  I would smell it before I saw it, growing thick and wild along the fence rows.  Then just as I'd think "mmm, honeysuckle", the wind would shift, I'd round the curve, and it was gone.

I still take those roads, and still play those songs, and the smell is still gone.

Remembering Smell

A sense of smell is often underappreciated, but very important.  It enhances our sense of taste, warns us of possible danger, and plays a role our physical and mental health.  Smells can affect our mood or evoke a memory of a person, place or thing.  The inability to smell has several side effects, one of which is an increase in the occurrence of depression brought on by frustration, alienation, the inability to empathize and the inability to call upon comforting memories

I used to have a sense of smell.  I have always been prone to moodiness and melancholoy, so I am not sure I can blame being a whiny baby on the loss of smell.  And I haven't lost my memory of smell, or of being able to smell.  It's just that the process works a little differently now, kind of in reverse.

Most people, when they smell say, vanilla, think of baking.  For me, I can bake all day long and never smell the scent of vanilla.  I can see a picture of vanilla in a magazine, and turn the page without a second thought.  But ask me if I remember what vanilla smells like.  Immediately, a picture of a vanilla bottle pops into my head.  Depending on the situation, and the smell I am asked to recall, that image may become something else.  Vanilla becomes cookie dough, followed by memories of learning to make chocolate chip cookies as a child.  So sure, I remember what vanilla smells like, as long as I can call up a memory of having seen or used vanilla.

I have been told that since my sense of smell did not return within a few months of losing it, it will probably never return.  That thought does make me a little sad, but I have accepted it an learned to live with it.  Not having a sense of smell has some benefits, such as not being able to smell unpleasant smells :)  But even unpleasant smells can be associated with things worth remembering.

Sometimes those memories are more vivid than others.  So from time to time, when something triggers a memory that includes the memory of a smell, I will try to write about it here.