I dump a spoonful of curry into the waiting pot. As it hits the butter and onions, a savory plume fills the air causing my eyes to water. I give the mixture a few turns before setting the timer. Opening the cans of pumpkin and broth, I wait.
The curry stains the spatula, a pervasive seasoning that invades my nose ... and my mind. Smiling, I remember a game my kid sister and I played. During long days or slow nights, we wander to the kitchen to explore our mother's spice rack. One stands, eyes squeezed shut, while the other riffles through the cabinet. Seizing upon a bottle, the chooser unscrews the lid, holding it out to the sniffer. We can't touch it and our eyes must stay closed, but we can take our time dwelling on the mystery smell.
With eyes clenched tight, we breath deep, hoping that the aroma will spark a memory - a dish our mother might have prepared recently. If we were lucky, we'd helped with that dinner and maybe, just maybe, we'd had the job of seasoning. Suddenly the name springs to mind and we exclaim, "Cumin!"
As the curry dances above my pot, tears prick my eyes and this time it isn't the onions. My head swirls with memories of that childhood kitchen: the slanting floor and the crooked door jam leaning to the right; the upper oven that never worked and the little shelf above the sink holding an army of penguins because my mom commented one time on their cuteness; the louvered pantry door stuffed with Christmas cards. I learned how to bone a chicken in that kitchen and I watched my mother roll out tortillas. She made both look easy.
The timer beeps and I'm jarred back to the present. Aaron saunters up, putting one arm around my shoulders. "What's that smell?"
"It's curry."
"Can I help?"
"Sure, Buddy."
The tradition of "Name that Spice" and "Help Mom in the Kitchen" continues for another generation.
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Linking up with Trifecta: 33-333 words inspired by the single word dwell (to keep the attention directed.)
Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - inspired by the sense of smell.
A few weeks ago I finally broke down and mopped my kitchen floor. I had put it off for quite some time citing that drippy, summer popsicles and juicy, slurp-worthy peaches made mopping the floor a moot point. But soon it became obvious that spot-cleaning wasn't doing the job and the patch beneath our overly generous water dispenser in the fridge was noticeably sparkly and clean. Hence the need to mop.
I pulled out my bucket and rummaged under the kitchen sink for my bottle of lemon-scented floor cleaner. As hot water poured into the mop bucket, I unscrewed the cap of the floor cleaner and I was instantaneously transported back to my childhood.
Suddenly I am nine years old standing in the locker room at the Ouray Hot Springs Pool, shivering from head to toe as I fumble with my locker. I stand on the cold concrete floor in front of row upon row of metal cubicles, dripping in spite of my towel haphazardly draped across my shoulders. My fingers and toes are wrinkly and puckered and my arms and legs are covered in goosebumps. A puddle is forming at my feet, water running down my legs from my soggy Speedo. I hear the clang of other locker doors slamming shut, the giggle of fellow swimmers and the steady shhhshing of the showers.
And I smell the lemon-scented cleaner the pool staff uses to sterilize the floors of the locker room. Pungent, powerfully strong and lemony-clean. Apparently the same cleaner I use on my kitchen floor.
It's astonishing how one little whiff can wash away 28 years and send me back to a pool filled with swim team memories. Complete with goosebumps.
There is a great line from Ghostbusters ... the usual silliness that sticks with you!
Hee, hee ... I love how Egon just looks to his hand-held gizmo and starts investigating again! Makes me want to watch the movie again. Just to enjoy the lines like this one - where you start giggling because you know it's coming!
The other day, I had another run in with smell. I was snuggled on the couch with my big kids reading through the last of "The Mysterious Benedict Society" (a book/series I would whole-heartedly recommend, by the way) when I most definitely smelled something.
Stinky feet.
Whew! I was surrounded by four foul feet! How could their feet get so smelly? Their cutsie little tootsies that I used to kiss when they were itty bitty? Now you couldn't pay me enough to get me that close to their doozy feet.
"Whoa, guys! Your feet are stinky!" I teased.
Giggling they pulled off their socks. As if that would help! Now there were four feet and four separate socks that were making my eyes water!
"Aaah! Go put your socks in the hamper and grab a baby wipe. A little clean up down might help a bit!"
While the kids were gallumping upstairs to dispose of the hazardous waste and detoxify their feet, the smell lingered and suddenly I was standing in the locker room of my old school ... and it smelled the same.
My nose transported me back to gym class in middle school - the metal doors of the lockers clanging, the futile attempts at changing with any modesty, the giggles and groans from those who liked gym and those who didn't and the pervading smell of stinky feet. I could feel in the pit of my reminiscing stomach the same anxieties that came along with being a pre-teen: acne, physical development, fitting in, standing out, being cool ... not being stinky.
It was surprising to me how vividly those emotions from 20+ years came flooding back ... all because of a couple of stinky feet. My sense of smell is a powerful tool for remembering ... but not always unpleasant things:
There is a particular cleaning product that whenever I smell it, I am walking through the dressing room at the Ouray pool. I'm shivering and trying to dry off enough to get dressed quickly. I'm wishing I could turn around and get back in the steaming hot springs!
When I made cinnamon rolls for Christmas last year, I used my mom's recipe and the smell of the sweet dough brought back memories of hanging out behind the counter of my mom's bakery and how she was never quite able to wash that smell out of her clothes.
Sitting at the pumpkin patch last week, perched upon a hay bale, I was warming in the sun. And the hay was warming, too. That sweet sent of warm straw surrounded me and I found myself standing against our old horse, Jake. He's eating the hay I've just brought for him and I'm snuggled against his toasty side listening to him chew and feeling the heat radiating from his belly. He has his own wonderful smell.
Smells are powerful ... in more ways than one!
God made us this way, I think. Seeing as He engineered and designed us with great care and intention, I would have to say that he included this connection between our noses and our memories on purpose. And this connection is also linked to the rest of our being!
In the Old Testament, God used the Israelite's noses on a regular basis to keep His children close to Him. And often times to woo them back to Him. Through the use of the incense burning perpetually before the altar and the smoke from the burnt offerings, the Israelites could not escape the smells of God's presence.
34Then the LORD said to Moses, “Take fragrant spices—gum resin, onycha and galbanum—and pure frankincense, all in equal amounts,35and make a fragrant blend of incense, the work of a perfumer. It is to be salted and pure and sacred.36Grind some of it to powder and place it in front of the ark of the covenant law in the tent of meeting, where I will meet with you. It shall be most holy to you. (Exodus 30:34-36, emphasis mine)
With the aroma of incense in the air, the Israelites were reminded of God promises and His presence. As they gathered for worship at the temple, their hearts were ready to hear from God. It was almost like God was saying, "Do you smell something? Listen! I have something important to say to you."
I think God still uses our noses today to draw us closer to Him ... the delicate smell of the communion wafers - a gentle reminder of Jesus' sacrifice; the aroma of a meal heating in the church kitchen - the promise of community and belonging; the scent of evergreens at Christmas - ushering us into the celebration of Jesus' birth; the whiff of 120 sweaty kids at Vacation Bible School - the opportunity to share the love and hope of Jesus in exponential ways.
We can't disregard the power of smell or the potential we have to smell and listen. And learn.
