Soap and my BlogBerry

I had a moment a few days ago at work where I came across a particular soap that has a distinct smell. It's not a brand I have ever bought, but I discovered that I was very familiar with the smell. I had quite a reaction to this because it assaulted my senses by such great surprise. Imagine one of your favorite smells. Now try to imagine what life was like before you knew that smell. Eight, nine, ten years. Then take it back an additional 15 years, back to when you were very young, remembering your first experience or one of your first memories with the smell.

That's where I went in a matter of seconds.

I fought back tears at that moment. Tears of happiness, for I had just rediscovered something very near and dear to me. Tears of longing, for it reminded me of someone I love that has long since left this mortal existence.

At lunch, I sat in the corner and wanted so badly to write, write, and write some more! I didn't want to get up from where I was sitting because I hadn't had a break for 6 hours that morning. I remembered that my (Cr)ackBerry had a notepad, so I whipped out my phone and started typing as quickly as my thumbs would let me. Here's what I wrote (I apologize in advance for repeating myself in certain parts, and for the scattered thoughts. (Cr)ackberries are not equipped with word processors.):

This morning at work I came across a bar of soap. Nothing fancy, but something that managed to transport me back to second grade, when my dad took me to visit my grandparents in Emmett, Idaho. "Granny," as we called her, has been gone for many years but the smell from this soap brought her right back to me. The smell from this morning has really thrown me for a loop. I have felt weepy all day, and have had to remind myself to keep going and not wax nostalgic. Things like the music to Sense and Sensibility (one of Granny's favorites), the smell of home hair color and the subsequent sound of plastic gloves, "O Mio Bambino Caro," and any time I cook with wine makes me get a little weepy, even after all these years. I often wonder if my mom misses her parents as much as I miss them. Does she think of them as often as I do? It also got me thinking of this: There are certain smells that remind me of my mother. Certain books, music artists, opera, and places that make me think of my mother. When she's gone, am I going to be able to keep it together when I hear James Taylor or walk by a perfume counter and get a slight hin of Shalimar? I know it goes away, eventually, but you know, Granny's been gone since 2003. That brings me to my next question: Is it fair to leave behind so many of those kinds of remnants of yourself afer you've left this life? Yes, to leave behind reminders, but to have such an impact with each of them?