scent memory

This morning, while walking from my car to my building, I caught a whiff of Denmark.

I'm not kidding.

While I lived there, for part of the time I lived near a gelatin factory out in the country. The smells that came out of that place were fascinating: rotting fish and orange peel (which I found not as unpleasant as it sounds), and this tinge that doesn't smell quite like anything else, but other things sometimes smell just a little bit like it--enough to bring it to mind. That happened not half an hour ago.

My aunt (who was born in Denmark, as was my Dad) asked me after I got back if I missed the smell. She said the smell there is different than here, and she was right. I imagine it has something to do with the land being surrounded by water so closely (we all lived on Sjælland, one of Denmark's many islands, during our separate times there). I'm sure, though, that the Denmark she had in her scent memory is different than the one I have in mine--the time we spent there was separated by about fifty years, and even though Denmark is quite environmentally conscious, I'm certain development had an effect on air quality. At the same time, I'm reassured by that connection to her: that I recognized something in her land of birth that she remembered, and missed.

Shortly after she passed away, I moved here. In the early days here, I kept smelling her perfume, with no discernable reason for it to be in the area. She wore Pheremone, I believe, exclusively. I kept catching whiffs of it in hallways and stairwells across campus, once very powerfully in the stairwell of the building my office was in. I made an entry about it at the time, and someone commented that it seemed like I was being haunted by her. But I know now that wasn't the case--she would never do that, not in the way that most people think of haunting, anyway. Yes, she was in my mind a lot (still is), and yes, there were things left unresolved that make me sad even now, but she wouldn't deliberately haunt me. Though if anyone could, I'd believe she could. She was that sort--spiritual, connected, but ultimately practical. I'd believe that she'd hover, observe, sometimes take a gentle step to help (which sometimes I believe she has), but not haunt, not like all that's come to mean.

I miss her.

Outside this morning, trying to pin down the scent that evoked the memory, I drew in deeply, and though it still niggled at my mind, couldn't find it again. It had left as quickly as it had arrived, escaping me entirely. But I'm still dwelling on it, and all it had brought to mind.

There's so much I miss, but I'm also so glad for all I have. (Yes, I mean you, Dad, among many other things and people. I wish I could give you a hug right now. Much love. -A.)