Scents

I have an odd memory for things, and a desire to relive the senses triggered in times past. I associate smells, sounds, tastes, and other sensations with places, books I was reading, and what I was watching.

Reading about Geisha makes me think of warmth and sun, and the smell of the Morikami, the smell of the paper, sitting in the living room of my grandmother's apartment flipping a fan open and closed. At that time I still played the Sims, would sneak in bits of "Open for Business" when they would doze.

Early on a sunny morning, with warm weather, I am constantly brought back to Darla's house on N Main. Peanut butter open face, South Park, coloring books, cigarettes and spliffs. Desperate Housewives was also watched, as well as the OC. Fashions from the renaissance were colored in, and grass was green and little was worn. The smell, sickly sweet smell, of stale cigarettes, joints, peanut butter, and coffee. Good times.

Lately, with the changing of the seasons, I have felt and smelt these things again.

Harry Potter was always, always accompanied by Sitar music - generally Anoushka Shankar, with same Ravi in there as well. Incense, canopy bed, candles.

I smelled bonito stock the other day. It immediately brought me back to Junior year, after my return from Japan. My incessant udon making accompanied by Japanese television was a classic combination. I crave udon....it really should not be hard to find that stock here, or the right udon...all these organic places have shit for udon - thin noodles are soba, not udon, thank you very much.

Sometimes late at night I'll feel like I'm pulling an all nighter again, going out at wee hours of the morning to empty streets for a cigarette, but it's not the same sensation here as it was. Here is full of strangers. While there they were strangers too, they were not - because we all went to the same school and knew the same people. Students would still walk around at 3 in the morning and congregate in North Quad for smokes, but here I go outside and it's no one familiar or nothing at all.

Rainy days make me think of Oregon. Walking the streets of Portland, sans parapluie, big coffee in hand. The streets are slick, but everyone's outside anyway because it's Oregon and we're used to rain there. I think of Anna Bananas, and ducking inside to finally get out of the drizzle.

Cloudy days remind me of Amsterdam in April. You know the sun is out there somewhere, but it's hidden behind this thin blanket of cloud. Walking the narrow streets dotted with cafes with outdoor tables, heinekens and joints to be had, a child amongst giants.