I love smells. Good smelling smells, of course, but smells all the same
I have loads of early memories wrapped up in my nose:
- Like the way my grandmother smelled of rose milk lotion every time she took my hand.
- Like the scent of a pot of beans boiling on the stove, awaiting spices to become chili on a cold winter day.
- Like the aroma of coffee wafting up the stairs to the dormer rooms in my grandparents’ pioneer home.
And so many cherished memories of my adult life, filed away there as well:
- Like the way the top of my babies heads’ smelled in their infancy.
- Like the way I am smelling autumn for the first time in Missouri.
- Like the way my husband smells at the end of his work day–the mishmash of faded cologne and old coffee.
I am helpless when it comes to passing by stores like Lush or Bath and Body Works. Magnetically, I am drawn in and toward the soaps and the lotions and the bottles and the sprays. It is simply olfactory heaven in retail form for me. Strangely, perfume shops and counters don’t have the same effect. But those others? I have to be dragged away. And trust me, I have been.
Tonight, as I write this, I am freshly stepped out from a shower full of pomegranate soap and peppermint shampoo. Now, slathered in cinnamon & sandalwood lotion, I’ve washed my face in stone crop gel and moisturized with rosehips. Botanical silk deodorant is applied where it belongs and a sprinkle of a spicy exotic patchouli oil from Dubai is evaporating behind my ears.
Go ahead, smell me.
It’s all good.