Grocery shopping on Sunday I pass through produce. An assortment of crisp apples cause me pause. Their strong smell fills my senses with nostalgia.
I remember being four years old and playing beneath apple trees in Montana. Beautiful blossoms prettily covered limbs in spring. Summer produced perfectly round apples.
In the basement there was an apple cellar. I loved hearing the creaky door hinges open to reveal this secret room. Previous owners used its shelves to store crates of apples. My parents used it to preserve our outgrown toys.
Inside the air was stale with the overpowering smell of apples. The smell marked their lifespan. Green apples, ready to eat apples, maturing apples, mushy apples, and rotten apples.
At the grocery store I stood in front of the assorted apples and followed my nose to an overflowing crate. Closing my eyes I picked up just one and heavily breathed in its scent. A picture of me, very small, with an apple appliqué on my blue overalls flashed behind my eyes. Another snapshot of my dolls Peanut Butter and Jelly was recaptured. A flickering image of my brother and me playing the game Button- Button with mom was remembered.
Still, there was a stronger feeling; an overwhelmingly perfect feeling that came from the scent of an apple. I remembered how safe and loved I felt as a little girl, an eldest child, inside my family. My identical twin sisters were not yet born but I understood there was plenty of room for all of us.
Apples remind me of my family and of being a small child. At age four I saved these crisp memories inside an apple. Not just any apple, but apples that smell like that special scent I savored as a child.
I bundled a half dozen of these round memory triggers into a plastic bag. Once home I placed the bag onto the counter and bent down to Benjamin’s level.
“What do you smell?” I place an apple beneath his nose.
Smiling he presses it closer, “A good apple.”
Ruffling his hair I slice the apple and place them in a bowl. “Here you go.”
He runs off with his snack and I watch him with wonder. What smells will he associate with being young? Will he remember antiseptic hospital smells with fear or will a safe, happy smell prevail?
Biting into an apple piece I am hopeful that he’ll always remember the smell of apples and not the smell of fear or grief. Hopefully he is locking happy memories into places he’ll one day happen across …. Like in a grocery store. He’ll unlock memories that will bring him comfort and peace.
I remember being four years old and playing beneath apple trees in Montana. Beautiful blossoms prettily covered limbs in spring. Summer produced perfectly round apples.
In the basement there was an apple cellar. I loved hearing the creaky door hinges open to reveal this secret room. Previous owners used its shelves to store crates of apples. My parents used it to preserve our outgrown toys.
Inside the air was stale with the overpowering smell of apples. The smell marked their lifespan. Green apples, ready to eat apples, maturing apples, mushy apples, and rotten apples.
At the grocery store I stood in front of the assorted apples and followed my nose to an overflowing crate. Closing my eyes I picked up just one and heavily breathed in its scent. A picture of me, very small, with an apple appliqué on my blue overalls flashed behind my eyes. Another snapshot of my dolls Peanut Butter and Jelly was recaptured. A flickering image of my brother and me playing the game Button- Button with mom was remembered.
Still, there was a stronger feeling; an overwhelmingly perfect feeling that came from the scent of an apple. I remembered how safe and loved I felt as a little girl, an eldest child, inside my family. My identical twin sisters were not yet born but I understood there was plenty of room for all of us.
Apples remind me of my family and of being a small child. At age four I saved these crisp memories inside an apple. Not just any apple, but apples that smell like that special scent I savored as a child.
I bundled a half dozen of these round memory triggers into a plastic bag. Once home I placed the bag onto the counter and bent down to Benjamin’s level.
“What do you smell?” I place an apple beneath his nose.
Smiling he presses it closer, “A good apple.”
Ruffling his hair I slice the apple and place them in a bowl. “Here you go.”
He runs off with his snack and I watch him with wonder. What smells will he associate with being young? Will he remember antiseptic hospital smells with fear or will a safe, happy smell prevail?
Biting into an apple piece I am hopeful that he’ll always remember the smell of apples and not the smell of fear or grief. Hopefully he is locking happy memories into places he’ll one day happen across …. Like in a grocery store. He’ll unlock memories that will bring him comfort and peace.
1 comments:
What a beautiful and descriptive blog.
I hope that all of Benjamin's memories are filled with delicious smelling apples and strawberry milkshakes!
He has been through a lot in his 4 short years, but the love and happiness he is surrounded with, will knock even the ugliest of memories to the curb!
Karen
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