The scent of childhood

Between ages 1 to 7 (1 to 5 for my little sister) most our time was spent at our grandparents. Our parents weren’t exactly well off then so the nice clothes and the nice toys came from Grandma and Grandpa from my mother’s side. I didn’t mind getting all my clothes from the flea market — hell, I still do — but it was a nice change of atmosphere going to see them.
My Grandma had this Glycerin and Lemon hand cream whose scent filled our clothes and our hair when we were over. It was always combined with the smell of something in the oven — usually blueberry pie. The combination was entrancing in how it made us feel so safe and at home.
No rules of home were to be followed here, we could pull everything out of cabinets and go play hide and seek in the attic if we were really, really careful and remembered to shut the door in the floor.
Grandpa always smelt of fish and wood. He had a little warehouse in the garage where he made things. He’d built us a little house outdoors where we could play; it seemed so huge at the time. The smell of fish always makes me think of him, and makes me kind of happy, even though at my current point of life I would never dream of eating fish ever again. Don’t want the poor little things killed…
My Grandma died when I was seven. They still make the Glycerin and Lemon hand cream she has, so whenever I see a tester at the store I go put some on (sounds silly I know) to feel like she’s around. Nobody makes blueberry pie like she did, she I can never smell that again but… I have a feeling I remember it.


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