Steve and I met friends in St. Paul for dinner last night. It was raining very lightly, so little that I didn't bother with the umbrellas I'd put in the car. Walking past some evergreen plantings in the restaurant's landscaping, he commented on how wonderful they smelled in the light rain, and all the great memories they brought back. Like me, much of his childhood was in or near pine forests.
I told him I know what he meant since I have those memories of that scent. But since covid I no longer smell what I used to enjoy. (Of course I no longer smell what I hate either.) Very rarely does some kind of scent get my attention, like the first grass cutting of the season this month. Subsequent ones in the neighborhood were simply mower noise. I have been with him in the car when he mentions how strong a skunk stink we just passed, and I take a deep breath to see what I might be able to detect. If there is anything, it will be faint and bears no resemblance to the weapon of that adorable black and white fuzzy creature that, when alive, waddles so cutely past. There is the tiniest bit of something, but bears no relation to any skunk, living or dead. Or anything else I can recognize or name. That's on a good day. Otherwise, nothing. If I had a farting dog I wouldn't have a clue, and unless you're noisy, none about you either.
This morning we were again discussing last night, and his reminiscence of the evergreens in the rain. I love that he can still have that as part of his life, and hope mine can someday finally return. He sympathized with me while I rejoiced for him. But I added I might be just a bit selective in my wish for myself, not being over-eager to smell my own stink again!
Probably best to just assume it's still there though, eh?
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