The lilac bushes are in full bloom along the Rideau Canal, which significantly improved my running experience this afternoon. I could see the purple bursts coming up ahead, so I picked up the pace and got ready for a big inhale to take in as much of the lilac scent as I could. They reminded me of my grama’s house, because she had lilacs in her backyard that became the marker for third base when we played baseball.
Lately I’ve been thinking about how much fun it is to have smell flashbacks. Sometimes they come in nanosecond bursts: You, for some reason, are taken back to a distant memory for a split second because of some passing smell in the air. Maybe it was the smell making its way around the world or through time as air circulates the earth. (I used to think it was so cool that I was essentially inhaling the same air that Leo Di Caprio had once inhaled and exhaled to reach me).
Just yesterday I had a smell flashback to the patio kitchen in my hotel in Jamaica, which evoked happy memories of beautiful scenery, fulfilling nourishment and having fun with my brother and sisters and dad.
The other day something triggered my brain to bring my imagination to one of my best friend’s kitchens. Specifically, the memory was of getting ready to go out and not wanting to do the dishes until tomorrow.
It’s a cheap thrill, but a way for me to be assured that my memory is still in tact, and that I am not in too much danger of growing old and forgetting the wonderful memories that make me whole. I think that is a genuine worry. We’ve all seen grandparents memories’ falter, or feeling lost ourselves when we realize there are elements of our childhood we no longer can remember.
If only smell flashbacks were never ruined by the ungodly body odour of the person next to me.