Fragrance & Remembrance - Mommas' House

In a book that I am currently reading, Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani, the book’s narrator relates that while many people love to remember how their grandmother’s house smelled when they were a child, she loved to remember the smell of the bookmobile that came down her street.

I enjoyed that thought and when Uncle R and I talked about it, we both commented on how the smells of our grandmother’s houses said so much about who they were – welcoming, giving, hospitable, possessing an excellence in cooking, and the feminine flowery smells of sweet dispositions.

That made me start thinking about how Mommas’ house smelled… all of the wonderful flavors of scent there. In my mind I walked through each room thinking about what was there and how it looked and the smells that accompanied that room.

And the result – one of my crazy poems…


FRAGRANCE & REMEMBRANCE
- MOMMAS’ HOUSE

As you walk in –
the smell of Ponds cold cream
tickles your nose
as a warm, welcoming kiss -
velvet soft -
brushes your cheek
and you are embraced.

Mouth-watering lunch is cooking…
Is it fried chicken
or meatloaf?
Biscuits hot with butter melting…
and peach cobbler
lattice-work sugar tiles atop…

Then – as you draw closer
and enter the small, cozy dining room
you find the familiar small pine table
with leaves out,
set with clean & shiny,
deep red, forest green & cream
Franciscan Apple dishes
and frosted iced tea glasses
set on a light cotton tablecloth
with its edging lifting slightly
in the passing breeze
from an oscillating fan
and decorated with
flashing patterns in
primary hues.

The nose identifies
more distinct
and delicious additions -
simmering green beans with potatoes
sharply fragrant cucumbers
basking in slightly sweetened vinegar
& iced tea steeping -
thick, sweet and amber
with springs of mint
from beside the back steps.

In the wintertime
when the lights are dim,
a kerosene stove
pulls you near
for quiet green lamplight,
strong, scalding coffee
and sweet potato pie
with cinnamon scents.
The world grows small
& manageable
and you breathe in deeply.

Mommas’ bedroom –
again the soft hint of Ponds,
gently flowered perfume,
pressed cotton,
cedar from the chest below the window,
moth balls deep in the closet
sending out a faint
suggestion of winter coats & scarves.
A lyrical mélange of flower fragrances,
cut grass
the cooling of hot summer leaves
sings from outside
in the backyard -
beyond the open window
on a summer night -
beside the draping willow
along the dusty, rose curtained garage
at the end of the grass.

In Mommas’ small tiled bathroom -
washing hands
in expectation of
a perfect lunch
the comforting smell
of Dove soap, minty toothpaste
and dusting powder -
and the coolness
of its cleanness.

Smell has a precious memory
where love & sanctuaries of safety
are concerned.

It has the power to transport.
To mesmerize.
To comfort
or fill the eye
with tears.

But it remembers with a well-deep passion
in league with the heart.

Love to the Pamela’s Girls,

Auntie J