They say that smells and scents are tied up with memories in a way that the other senses can't quite match, probably because the olfactory sense is a part of the limbic system. Apparently, when we're young we tie a smell to a memory of a place, a person, an event, and then when we smell it again we're transported back to the original memory.
I can say without a doubt that this is very true for me. The smell of a burning brush fire or house fire has, in the past, given me panic attacks. There's an essential oil I found one time that is linked in my mind, inexplicably, to my summer camp. Holidays have their own appropriate scents: dead leaves at Halloween, cranberries at Thanksgiving, and evergreen trees at Christmas. A few days ago I was walking home from work and smelled clove cigarettes: either the smoke from someone smoking one in the building I was passing by, or someone on the street who had smoked one earlier. I wasn't quite sure where it came from, but it brought me right back to my freshman year of high school, when my best friend at the time and the other people she hung out with smoked cloves and I hoped fervently that some adult wouldn't happen by to string me up by my toenails for even being nearby when that obviously Bad Behavior was going on. And don't even get me started on the smell of pot smoke, because I will do everything I can to get away from that.
This morning, though.
This morning, I was walking to work, and someone was walking behind me. Eventually he overtook me, passed me, and as he made his way to my left I happened to inhale. He smelled just like The Chef, the guy I dated (briefly) after College Boyfriend and I broke up and before I met Dan. I don't know what it was. The Chef usually smelled like a kitchen (after all, he WAS a chef), but after a shift he'd shower and when we'd go out he smelled like something. A shampoo? a lotion? Knowing him, it was probably some sort of Masculine Cologne or aftershave or some crap like that. I never knew what it was and I never asked him. I haven't smelled anyone else with that same smell in the many years since I last saw The Chef (at an awkward baseball game, about which Dan always teases me because I LEFT EARLY, oh, the horror, but I have tried to make it clear to him that I HAD TO GET AWAY.) I hadn't even thought about the chef in, oh, years maybe, other than to remark on the 3 good things and one Life Lesson I learned while involved with him (1. How to make my own salad dressing from scratch, 2. How to toss a skillet without needing to use a spatula or other implement, 3. How to play scrabble competitively, and Don't Date People Who Used To Have A Drug Problem And Are Also Kind of Intellectually Stunted, respectively) at various times.
One of the things I like about Dan is that he has his own smell. He doesn't cover it up with cologne or aftershave. I like the smell of his shampoo, body wash, and deoderant, plus the smell that is just Dan. When I have to travel for work, I often bring a t-shirt of his with me, one that he's worn for a day and that I can use to sleep in. It helps me sleep, having that smell with me, even though I'm alone in the room by myself. I guess I'm just weird that way.
Are there any smells for which you have strong memories, internet?
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Chizina
A friend of mine recently took a trip to China. The group she was with went to Beijing, Suzhou, and Shanghai, and she posted a whole crapton of photos on Facebook.
In looking through her photos, I suddenly remembered so much about that trip, things I hadn't thought of in a long time. She took photos of things we'd seen, stood places we'd stood, and she was even there at around the same time we were, only four years later. I guess we lucked out, because the weather we had was mostly decent, though it got a little chilly toward the end of the trip. My friend was snowed on for a good part of her trip!
I've never written much about that trip anywhere, and Dan's big trip report post (originally posted on our old message board) is here. You can see his flickr photo set here.
Seeing my friend's photos made me want to go back. I hope someday we will. I'd love to see Shanghai and other parts of southern China.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I wonder if he still has it
The other day, I was reminded of the most bizarre thing I ever bought at a thrift store.
I was in the store with some of my friends who lived at the big house, including my college boyfriend and my friend Brett. We were shopping around for something, I'm not sure what, and then I saw it.
It...was...frightening. And also, spectacular.
It was a bra. But not just any bra. It was the largest bra I'd ever seen. I didn't think they even MADE bras that big. It was a size 48 HHH.
FORTY EIGHT TRIPLE H.
I was so fascinated with this gigantic bra that I simply had to have it. When we brought it back to the big house, we learned that the cups were large enough to fit a human head inside each one.
Here is some photographic evidence.
I have fervently hoped since that the reason the bra was at the thrift store was because the donor had lost a lot of weight, had a serious breast reduction, or both.
Sadly, I'm no longer in possession of the bra. My friend Brett loved it so much that I gave it to him.
It hung from his lamp for a few years.
I was in the store with some of my friends who lived at the big house, including my college boyfriend and my friend Brett. We were shopping around for something, I'm not sure what, and then I saw it.
It...was...frightening. And also, spectacular.
It was a bra. But not just any bra. It was the largest bra I'd ever seen. I didn't think they even MADE bras that big. It was a size 48 HHH.
FORTY EIGHT TRIPLE H.
I was so fascinated with this gigantic bra that I simply had to have it. When we brought it back to the big house, we learned that the cups were large enough to fit a human head inside each one.
Here is some photographic evidence.
I have fervently hoped since that the reason the bra was at the thrift store was because the donor had lost a lot of weight, had a serious breast reduction, or both.
Sadly, I'm no longer in possession of the bra. My friend Brett loved it so much that I gave it to him.
It hung from his lamp for a few years.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The fig tree
When I was a kid, our "next-door" neighbor (meaning the one who lived closest to us, about 1/4 of a mile away) had a huge orchard. I may or may not have written before about how he used to mow said orchard nekkid, wearing only boots. Anyhow, this guy was a gardener/landscaper by trade and he had an amazing array of plants and trees.
It was really quite awesome that I was allowed to sort of go wherever I wanted within a reasonable distance of our house: around the big field, into the forest beyond, up to the little hill with the creek nearby, or to play in the orchard. It was full of trees: apple, plum, orange, walnut. And there were two enormous fig trees, one that produced a purple variety and one that made green.
The green fig tree was my home away from home when I was a kid. I played in it. I built a fort there. My friends who were part of our babysitting co-op and I played GIJoe there; my sister and I climbed the tree; my cousin and I ate fig after fig after fig. We shared them with the birds, and had to look out before eating a particularly ripe fig to make sure there was no bird poop on it. The tree was gigantic; maybe the oldest and/or biggest in the area. The branches stretched out and then down to the ground, especially heavy during fruit season. This meant that there was the perfect hiding space for a few kids to play and plot and imagine.
One time, when I was maybe 7 or 8, I threw a gigantic tantrum about something and "ran away" from home. This would perhaps have worked better had we lived less than five miles from the nearest town, and even town was pretty wee. So where did I go for those two hours until I ran out of steam and deigned to come home? The fig tree, of course!
We moved away in the summer of 1989, but our neighbor still lived in his old place. The land both of our houses stood on (a cattle ranch, as I think I've mentioned) was sold to a different owner a couple of years later. For some reason, we ended up going up to the old place when I was in eighth grade, so it would have been 1991 or early 1992. I was looking forward to visiting the fig tree, as it was such a huge part of my childhood.
The house where we had lived had been gutted; all the walls removed. We peeked in the windows and saw the different floorings for the kitchen, the kids' bedroom, my parents' room. Everything looked so small. This upset me, to think that this place that had been my home was reduced to four outer walls. Then, things got more upsetting: the enormous green fig tree was dead.
Our old neighbor told us what had happened: the fig tree was so big and heavy that, despite being over 100 miles to the south, the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake had caused it to split in half. The tree couldn't recover from a complete split, and died soon afterward. It was then that I really knew that you can't go home again, and things from your childhood are never the same once you grow up. Even though I was probably only 12 or 13 at the time, I felt ancient.
It was really quite awesome that I was allowed to sort of go wherever I wanted within a reasonable distance of our house: around the big field, into the forest beyond, up to the little hill with the creek nearby, or to play in the orchard. It was full of trees: apple, plum, orange, walnut. And there were two enormous fig trees, one that produced a purple variety and one that made green.
The green fig tree was my home away from home when I was a kid. I played in it. I built a fort there. My friends who were part of our babysitting co-op and I played GIJoe there; my sister and I climbed the tree; my cousin and I ate fig after fig after fig. We shared them with the birds, and had to look out before eating a particularly ripe fig to make sure there was no bird poop on it. The tree was gigantic; maybe the oldest and/or biggest in the area. The branches stretched out and then down to the ground, especially heavy during fruit season. This meant that there was the perfect hiding space for a few kids to play and plot and imagine.
One time, when I was maybe 7 or 8, I threw a gigantic tantrum about something and "ran away" from home. This would perhaps have worked better had we lived less than five miles from the nearest town, and even town was pretty wee. So where did I go for those two hours until I ran out of steam and deigned to come home? The fig tree, of course!
We moved away in the summer of 1989, but our neighbor still lived in his old place. The land both of our houses stood on (a cattle ranch, as I think I've mentioned) was sold to a different owner a couple of years later. For some reason, we ended up going up to the old place when I was in eighth grade, so it would have been 1991 or early 1992. I was looking forward to visiting the fig tree, as it was such a huge part of my childhood.
The house where we had lived had been gutted; all the walls removed. We peeked in the windows and saw the different floorings for the kitchen, the kids' bedroom, my parents' room. Everything looked so small. This upset me, to think that this place that had been my home was reduced to four outer walls. Then, things got more upsetting: the enormous green fig tree was dead.
Our old neighbor told us what had happened: the fig tree was so big and heavy that, despite being over 100 miles to the south, the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake had caused it to split in half. The tree couldn't recover from a complete split, and died soon afterward. It was then that I really knew that you can't go home again, and things from your childhood are never the same once you grow up. Even though I was probably only 12 or 13 at the time, I felt ancient.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Petra: likes and dislikes
Things Petra likes:
Dan
Sunny spots
Warm spots
Catnip
The water from a can of tuna
one particular brand/flavor of kitty treats
very small pieces of turkey bacon (sometimes)
being held
being held like a baby by Dan
throw rugs (for flopping upon)
being petted backwards
having her left ear scritched (she doesn't have the left back leg, so she can't scratch her left ear!)
licking plastic (mmmm, plastic)
sitting in unusually shaped containers
warm soft things, especially if they smell like Dan
playing in bags
playing in boxes
sitting on paper
string toys
snuggling with Loki
warm days
watching squirrels and birds on The Kitty Show (aka when the back door is open or when she climbs up in a window)
the blue chair
cushions
moths, mostly to meesh at, sometimes to hunt
reflections or flashlight or penlight on the wall
bathing Loki's head for him
seeing what Dan is doing at the kitchen counter or sink (I hold her up for this)
sniffing flowers and greens
sniffing things in general
fresh water
drinking out of the glasses that the humans are using
the bird that lives at Dan's parents' house
Things Petra tolerates:
Me
being held like a baby by me
dancing around the kitchen with me
being bossed around by Loki
Things Petra Does Not Like:
Taking pills
being jabbed with a needle every day
Flying Kitty
cold weather
being sat upon by Loki
when Loki bites her stump
when her stump has phantom limb pain
the cat carrier
riding in the car, especially on the highway
when there are no rugs to flop on
loud barking doggies
sitting on laps (she seriously Will Not Do This unless she is scared shitless)
sitting on most furniture
being on our bed
Dan
Sunny spots
Warm spots
Catnip
The water from a can of tuna
one particular brand/flavor of kitty treats
very small pieces of turkey bacon (sometimes)
being held
being held like a baby by Dan
throw rugs (for flopping upon)
being petted backwards
having her left ear scritched (she doesn't have the left back leg, so she can't scratch her left ear!)
licking plastic (mmmm, plastic)
sitting in unusually shaped containers
warm soft things, especially if they smell like Dan
playing in bags
playing in boxes
sitting on paper
string toys
snuggling with Loki
warm days
watching squirrels and birds on The Kitty Show (aka when the back door is open or when she climbs up in a window)
the blue chair
cushions
moths, mostly to meesh at, sometimes to hunt
reflections or flashlight or penlight on the wall
bathing Loki's head for him
seeing what Dan is doing at the kitchen counter or sink (I hold her up for this)
sniffing flowers and greens
sniffing things in general
fresh water
drinking out of the glasses that the humans are using
the bird that lives at Dan's parents' house
Things Petra tolerates:
Me
being held like a baby by me
dancing around the kitchen with me
being bossed around by Loki
Things Petra Does Not Like:
Taking pills
being jabbed with a needle every day
Flying Kitty
cold weather
being sat upon by Loki
when Loki bites her stump
when her stump has phantom limb pain
the cat carrier
riding in the car, especially on the highway
when there are no rugs to flop on
loud barking doggies
sitting on laps (she seriously Will Not Do This unless she is scared shitless)
sitting on most furniture
being on our bed
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Hiking in a winter wonderland (uphill)(in the dark)(in the snow)
We were invited to a friend's birthday party on Saturday night. He and his wife live in a house sort of up in the foothills outside of Boulder, and we'd never had a chance to go. Also, we knew quite a few other friends would be there, so we were excited about having some social time to take our minds off more sobering subjects.
The difficult part came when, all day Saturday, the weather went from bad to worse. It looked gross early in the day, and started snowing in the afternoon. We were still feeling OK about the idea of going to our friend's party, though, as the snow wasn't accumulating much. We had dinner early (a mock tuna casserole, made with boxed mac & cheese, lots of sauteed veggies, yogurt instead of milk/butter with the cheese packet, and some seasonings) and got ready, then were on our way.
Conditions weren't great. In fact, in some spots, it was downright difficult, even with the windshield wipers going full-speed. The snow came down harder the farther west we got, and Dan had to do some white-knuckle driving at half the normal speed limit in a few areas. Finally we made it to Boulder and headed up the appropriate highway to get to the party. We drove further and further up, and the road got worse and worse, and the snow came down and down. Finally, we arrived at the turnoff, and realized that there was no way in hell that our car was going to make it up that hill, especially with inches of snow on the road.
I knew from the directions that we were less than two miles from our friends' house, and we had our snowboots in the trunk (had not taken them out since last spring's snowshoe adventures). We wanted to go to the party. So we decided to strap on the boots and hike to the house up the road, despite it being quite dark. And despite not having a functional flashlight. And despite not knowing exactly where we were going or how far we had to go because we'd never been there before. And (and this was the clincher) despite not knowing what the road was like.
Let me tell you. We certainly got our exercise hiking up that hill. It wasn't easy, especially when cars would pass up on the way up and not even slow down, let alone stop to see if we wanted a ride. We made it past hairpin turns and steep climbs, and started to get discouraged, especially since neither of us had cellular reception (being in a big canyon). It was dark and cold and we'd been hiking for 45 minutes with no end in sight.
Luckily, just when we were thinking of turning around, someone stopped. And that someone happened to be two people who knew us from having attended many of the same parties and events, and they gave us a ride the rest of the way to the party! So we partied the night away, ate carrot cake and had tasty beverages and socialized and played Rock Band on the wii. I belted out a few tunes and rocked it on the drums, while I think Dan managed to do guitar as well over the course of the evening. He even kindly waited to sing the Rush song until I was upstairs and wouldn't be directly subjected to it.
Our friends had plenty of space and setup available for guests to stay overnight, which we chose to do rather than ask someone to drive us back to our car in the cold dark. We had a room and an air mattress (with plenty of bedding), and this morning we woke up to over a foot of snow covering everything in the canyon. I wish I'd had my bey camera with me; it was spectacularly beautiful. Eventually the birthday boy drove us down the hill to our car, and we cleared it off and drove home on plowed roads, another Colorado adventure under our belts.
The difficult part came when, all day Saturday, the weather went from bad to worse. It looked gross early in the day, and started snowing in the afternoon. We were still feeling OK about the idea of going to our friend's party, though, as the snow wasn't accumulating much. We had dinner early (a mock tuna casserole, made with boxed mac & cheese, lots of sauteed veggies, yogurt instead of milk/butter with the cheese packet, and some seasonings) and got ready, then were on our way.
Conditions weren't great. In fact, in some spots, it was downright difficult, even with the windshield wipers going full-speed. The snow came down harder the farther west we got, and Dan had to do some white-knuckle driving at half the normal speed limit in a few areas. Finally we made it to Boulder and headed up the appropriate highway to get to the party. We drove further and further up, and the road got worse and worse, and the snow came down and down. Finally, we arrived at the turnoff, and realized that there was no way in hell that our car was going to make it up that hill, especially with inches of snow on the road.
I knew from the directions that we were less than two miles from our friends' house, and we had our snowboots in the trunk (had not taken them out since last spring's snowshoe adventures). We wanted to go to the party. So we decided to strap on the boots and hike to the house up the road, despite it being quite dark. And despite not having a functional flashlight. And despite not knowing exactly where we were going or how far we had to go because we'd never been there before. And (and this was the clincher) despite not knowing what the road was like.
Let me tell you. We certainly got our exercise hiking up that hill. It wasn't easy, especially when cars would pass up on the way up and not even slow down, let alone stop to see if we wanted a ride. We made it past hairpin turns and steep climbs, and started to get discouraged, especially since neither of us had cellular reception (being in a big canyon). It was dark and cold and we'd been hiking for 45 minutes with no end in sight.
Luckily, just when we were thinking of turning around, someone stopped. And that someone happened to be two people who knew us from having attended many of the same parties and events, and they gave us a ride the rest of the way to the party! So we partied the night away, ate carrot cake and had tasty beverages and socialized and played Rock Band on the wii. I belted out a few tunes and rocked it on the drums, while I think Dan managed to do guitar as well over the course of the evening. He even kindly waited to sing the Rush song until I was upstairs and wouldn't be directly subjected to it.
Our friends had plenty of space and setup available for guests to stay overnight, which we chose to do rather than ask someone to drive us back to our car in the cold dark. We had a room and an air mattress (with plenty of bedding), and this morning we woke up to over a foot of snow covering everything in the canyon. I wish I'd had my bey camera with me; it was spectacularly beautiful. Eventually the birthday boy drove us down the hill to our car, and we cleared it off and drove home on plowed roads, another Colorado adventure under our belts.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
3 outfits I loved when I was a kid
I loved playing dress-up when I was little. (I still do.) Most of our dress-up clothes were things that had been my mom's, or things my mom had made, but some were pieces she picked up someplace or another. We had these two things that were sort of tulle or illusion-type fabric with white lace on the top, and a tie, so they could be veils or capes or shawls, things like that. I liked this one best because the lace was prettier, and in this photo I think I probably styled myself, with the three ribbons tied in my hair (because three is certainly better than one), pink, purple, and turquoise. Not sure how old I am here - six or seven, probably.
I told the story of this dog here (her name was Gracie), but please take special notice of my bright salmon-colored shirt with the cockatoo on it. I'm also wearing some kickass railroad striped black and white jeans, and white high-top sneakers (the only time I've ever worn high-tops; I sprained my ankle while I wore these regularly and never wanted to wear shoes that made my ankles weak again). This was my favorite shirt at the time, and it was most definitely the coolest one I owned in 1986.
Sometimes we got boxes of hand-me-downs from my (slightly) older cousin in San Diego, which I assume is where this Hawaiian shirt and skirt came from. If the previous outfit was cool, this was The Shit, man. And the red netting in the hair really makes it. (If you'll notice, I'm not wearing any shoes and riding my bike. This is pretty much how I rolled. This is why I have scars all over my right ankle.)
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