There is a story in our religion of a man who is presumed to be dead, but his wife does not believe he is dead, and the reason she gives for not believing he is dead is in her words; "To me he doth not stinketh."
I love that story.
My mother once told me that she was once complaining to my father that she was all sweaty and stinky, and he told her that she never stinks to him.
There is something to be said about loving someone so much, that no matter what, they never stink to you.
A couple weeks ago when were moving into Eldra's house, someone mentioned that it smells like old people.
But it doesn't smell like old people to me.
The smell of the air as you walk up the front steps smells like arriving to family parties, of looking in the kitchen window and seeing my Grama standing at the kitchen sink.
The carpet in the dining room smells like sitting next to my Grampa at the dining room table, helping him organize his finances when he was getting too old to do it on his own.
The smell of wet cement outside by the pool smells like swimming with my cousins, like family barbecues, and the special punch my grama used to make for us to drink. It smells like laying on the wall while my mom put ear drops in our ears after we swam.
My grandparents room smells like my Grampa giving us grandkids honey roasted peanuts while he sat in the big lazyboy chair.
And there are so many smells that were once here, that I miss.
I miss the smell of my grandparents old freezer. The one that was always filled with Hagen Daz and Bryers.
I miss the smell of the air conditioning in my Grandparents Lincoln. The one that floated down the road like you were driving on a cloud. The one with the plush leather seats that if you didn't wear your seat-belt, you would slide right off of them onto the car floor.
I miss the smell of my Grama's perfume. I miss the smell of my Grampa's hugs. I miss the smell of my Grama' cooking. It filled the air with flavor and sweetness.
I love the smells here. It doesn't smell like old people to me. It smells like my childhood.
And to me it does not stinketh.
I love that story.
My mother once told me that she was once complaining to my father that she was all sweaty and stinky, and he told her that she never stinks to him.
There is something to be said about loving someone so much, that no matter what, they never stink to you.
A couple weeks ago when were moving into Eldra's house, someone mentioned that it smells like old people.
But it doesn't smell like old people to me.
The smell of the air as you walk up the front steps smells like arriving to family parties, of looking in the kitchen window and seeing my Grama standing at the kitchen sink.
The carpet in the dining room smells like sitting next to my Grampa at the dining room table, helping him organize his finances when he was getting too old to do it on his own.
The smell of wet cement outside by the pool smells like swimming with my cousins, like family barbecues, and the special punch my grama used to make for us to drink. It smells like laying on the wall while my mom put ear drops in our ears after we swam.
My grandparents room smells like my Grampa giving us grandkids honey roasted peanuts while he sat in the big lazyboy chair.
And there are so many smells that were once here, that I miss.
I miss the smell of my grandparents old freezer. The one that was always filled with Hagen Daz and Bryers.
I miss the smell of the air conditioning in my Grandparents Lincoln. The one that floated down the road like you were driving on a cloud. The one with the plush leather seats that if you didn't wear your seat-belt, you would slide right off of them onto the car floor.
I miss the smell of my Grama's perfume. I miss the smell of my Grampa's hugs. I miss the smell of my Grama' cooking. It filled the air with flavor and sweetness.
I love the smells here. It doesn't smell like old people to me. It smells like my childhood.
And to me it does not stinketh.
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