Jul. 8th, 2005

Fading

Jul. 8th, 2005 09:03 am
I know some folks are waiting for me to make a wedding and/or honeymoon related update. I will, but not right now.

Quite suddenly I realized that I will never step into my Nana's house again, and smell the smell that defined the place. The smell was rich, not quite pleasant, but certainly not bad. The smell did not come from potpourri or Glade plug-ins or fresh baked goods. Strangely, Nana herself did not carry the smell. The house, the space, carved out its own olfactory niche in my being.

I have Nana's old car. Morgan has dubbed the 1986 Pontiac wood-paneled wagon, "Box". Box smells like the house. Can a person saturate a place or thing with a smell without personally carrying the scent? How strange. The smell in the wagon is fading. Each time I open the windows the Georgia air carries a little more of my Nana away from the car, away from me. Every weekday morning I sit down into the wagon, and I remember my grandmother. I suppose that without the smell, my memory will not awaken each morning. Once the air, the presence, inside her old car is gone, it will not return. Not ever.

How strange.

Jon

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