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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Off the Cuff / My Other Journal #814977 added April 25, 2014 at 6:14pm
Restrictions: None
My Nose Remembers
Why is the sense of smell so intense and functional for memory? Is it because we smell our mothers' innards first? This may have sounded like a joke, but I asked it in all seriousness, if seriousness and I can ever go together.  Whatever it is, I bet it has to do with some kind of an early or even prenatal training, since there is a strong connection of smells with emotions and early life experiences, which most of the time are pleasant ones.
In my experience, even nasty smells bring forth happy memories. Case in point: When I was a child, we used to visit some people in an old worn-out clapboard house. The toilet there used to smell of urine, but I loved that house and those people in it immensely. A strong urine smell, now, brings back those people and that house, with a feeling of sunshine.
Another one is the smell of pipe tobacco. I knew the approach of one of my uncles from the smell of his tobacco. This uncle, who always walked around with his pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth, was never able to eavesdrop on our plans of mischief since my cousins and I would change the subject as soon as we smelled that special tobacco, which rather had a sweet fragrance.
There are other scents that remind me of people I loved, for example jasmine for my mother, lilac for my aunt, but Soir de Paris for my mother's second cousin who used to bring me expensive toys and was nice to me, even though she didn't like children in general.
When we first met, my husband was using Old Spice. He has changed his deodorant and cologne since. For old times' sakes, however, a few days ago, I did buy an Old Spice deodorant and put it in a drawer, not to use but to inhale the scent of where our youth has gone.
The smell of burning wood, too, is a smell of comfort, for it reminds me of several days after a storm with the electricity out, when my family used to gather around the hearth on cold nights, while I crocheted and told stories to my sons.
Then, there is the watermelon's winning scent when freshly cut, which brings back the joy of togetherness with our clan. Whenever we had a family meeting in summers, and I mean including the whole, extended family, everyone would bring a watermelon, and we'd have a watermelon fest together with my grandmother's baking and a variety of other dishes.
While I sniff out nostalgia, each scent connects to an event, a person, or a moment. With the prodding of a scent, I smell my emotions that take me to my past, and this must be a fact beyond imagination. I bet, some fragrances still are there, hiding in the back of mind and remaining dormant, until they can suddenly surface to startle me with a happy memory.
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