Friday, February 24, 2012

Project 52 | Week 8 | Sensory

They don't even make this perfume any more.  I never use it.  I look at it every day.  I smell it on days like today when I want to think about her and feel her close to me.  It's my mom's perfume.  Not the one my sister remembers (that is Liz Claborne), but the one she wore when I was little.  I don't know when or why she switched but every time I smell this Perry Ellis it reminds me of her.  Caitlin smelled it when we were cleaning out her beauty drawers after she died and it didn't have any memories of it.  So I have it, sitting on my vanity in the bathroom.  

It makes me wonder what Lloyd will think of when he thinks of me: a smell, a taste of his favorite meal, the sound of my laughter, who knows. So much of my mom is wrapped up in smells of her dishes in the house and the taste of her dish when I get it right.  It makes me feel like home.  I talked with an old friend today whose mother has early stage Alzheimer's.  Like me, so many memories of her mother when she was healthy are wrapped up in making dinners together, baking, spending time in the kitchen. When you lose the ability to ask your mom what makes her dish unique, it's hard.  Somehow it makes everything more acute in your memory.  

I wonder what Lloyd's senses will store for him for when he is older.  What smells will always remind him of home. What dishes and tastes will make him feel like he's itty bitty, when his feet still dangled at the table.  To me, the smell of that perfume, of french bread baking, and the taste of whole wheat yeast rolls  with grape jelly will always remind me of my mom and my dangling toes.  
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