Gasoline
Aromas. They have a way of activating our memory sensors in our brain and transporting us to a moment, a person, a place.
A certain line from a movie comes to mind when I think about this, "...and it forever smelled of peppermint." In Anastasia, the main character is separated from her grandmother when she is just a child, and she ends up getting hurt in a way that she wakes up with amnesia. When her sense of smell picks up a hint of peppermint as an adult, she remembers the story from her childhood about spilling her grandmother's peppermint perfume on the rug in the palace. That whenever her grandmother was away, she would lie on that rug in order to remember her and feel close to her.
For me, it isn't peppermint. The scent that teleports me to a time in my past where life seemed to stand still, where every decision was an epic adventure, and the world had no boundaries...is gasoline. Yes, gasoline. I should probably also say gasoline emissions (CO2). My grandpa used to drive a dump truck back in Ukraine. Occasionally, he would allow me to tag along on his trips. That truck had such a strong smell of gasoline, but I didn't care. I loved climbing up on the truck. It seemed like I was climbing Everest. We would roll down the windows. My grandpa would be telling me stories as I would stand on my knees on the seat and stick my head out the window. It was always a great adventure.
I remember when I first came back to the states I would often find myself inhaling a good lung full of CO2 emission from our family car. I know. Crazy child or something. I wasn't doing it for anything other than for the purpose of remembering my grandpa, my adventures, my home.
I do not stand around car exhausts anymore waiting for a moment to inhale a memory. Instead now when I am at a gas station or out on the road with my windows down and I get a whiff of the scent of gasoline, I am teleported back to when I was five, six years old and I got to spend quality time with my grandpa. The memory isn't limited only to the truck rides.
I remember when we worked in the garden together. We would do everything from planting and watering to picking fruit and vegetables and eating them before they even made it into the bucket. There was the time when I helped him with building a brick wall in the garage to create a separate room for storage. I got my finger pinched under one of the bricks and that was the end of that endeavor. I remember prepping and cooking vareniki with my grandma in the kitchen as grandpa sat nearby either listening to the radio or watching TV. The whole family would go fishing and swimming, as well as take baths (girls and boys separately) in the river nearby. I remember making bonfires so big (2-stories high) that we needed to sit a distance away from them because the heat was unbearable. Then the cool night would come creeping in as the fire died down and you would find us looking up at the stars dreaming about the endless possibilities the future held for each of us.
Memory after memory flooding into my present. Obscuring my vision, yet bringing about a sense of comfort and joy. All of these memories triggered by the aroma of gasoline.
A certain line from a movie comes to mind when I think about this, "...and it forever smelled of peppermint." In Anastasia, the main character is separated from her grandmother when she is just a child, and she ends up getting hurt in a way that she wakes up with amnesia. When her sense of smell picks up a hint of peppermint as an adult, she remembers the story from her childhood about spilling her grandmother's peppermint perfume on the rug in the palace. That whenever her grandmother was away, she would lie on that rug in order to remember her and feel close to her.
For me, it isn't peppermint. The scent that teleports me to a time in my past where life seemed to stand still, where every decision was an epic adventure, and the world had no boundaries...is gasoline. Yes, gasoline. I should probably also say gasoline emissions (CO2). My grandpa used to drive a dump truck back in Ukraine. Occasionally, he would allow me to tag along on his trips. That truck had such a strong smell of gasoline, but I didn't care. I loved climbing up on the truck. It seemed like I was climbing Everest. We would roll down the windows. My grandpa would be telling me stories as I would stand on my knees on the seat and stick my head out the window. It was always a great adventure.
I remember when I first came back to the states I would often find myself inhaling a good lung full of CO2 emission from our family car. I know. Crazy child or something. I wasn't doing it for anything other than for the purpose of remembering my grandpa, my adventures, my home.
I do not stand around car exhausts anymore waiting for a moment to inhale a memory. Instead now when I am at a gas station or out on the road with my windows down and I get a whiff of the scent of gasoline, I am teleported back to when I was five, six years old and I got to spend quality time with my grandpa. The memory isn't limited only to the truck rides.
I remember when we worked in the garden together. We would do everything from planting and watering to picking fruit and vegetables and eating them before they even made it into the bucket. There was the time when I helped him with building a brick wall in the garage to create a separate room for storage. I got my finger pinched under one of the bricks and that was the end of that endeavor. I remember prepping and cooking vareniki with my grandma in the kitchen as grandpa sat nearby either listening to the radio or watching TV. The whole family would go fishing and swimming, as well as take baths (girls and boys separately) in the river nearby. I remember making bonfires so big (2-stories high) that we needed to sit a distance away from them because the heat was unbearable. Then the cool night would come creeping in as the fire died down and you would find us looking up at the stars dreaming about the endless possibilities the future held for each of us.
Memory after memory flooding into my present. Obscuring my vision, yet bringing about a sense of comfort and joy. All of these memories triggered by the aroma of gasoline.
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