Daily Journal, May 8, 2009

One of the things I have discovered about memories, as I have grown older and begun to accumulate a large store of them, is that the most potent ones are the ones that are recalled, without even trying, by the senses.

For example, there are certain smells that are always going to remind me of my childhood: wood smoke, pine trees, Old Spice and Chantilly.

Whenever I hear a song by Sublime, I smile and think of the first few months of dating my husband, when we would sit in my car and listen to 40 oz. to Freedom on repeat, while smoking pot and making out.

Conversely, if I hear the raspy tone of Kurt Cobain I will stop in my tracks and shudder, desperate to make it stop, because Nirvana brings back some horrible memories from high school.

And there are a host of things that can instantly transport me back to being thirteen and those first few months of being Scott Davis’ girlfriend:

The way the air smells right before it rains in April.
The sound of a lawnmower and the feel of fresh-cut grass beneath bare feet.
The creak of chains on a swing set.
The glossy feel of new comic book pages.
The sweet taste of wintergreen lifesavers.

And whatever you do, do not bring me to a little league baseball game in May, where the air is thick with the scent of leather and dirt, the grass is ripe, and teenage girls stomp their feet on the bleachers in loud, supportive cheers. I will stand stock still in the outfield with my eyes closed, clutching my heart and reliving the fleeting and elusive moments of a perfect first love.