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The familiar, albeit toxic, smell of a Barbie pool will forever return me to my childhood, as will that of Crayola crayons. Adversely, some scents are so elusive that I do not recall them on a conscious level, but still, they have the power to transport me immediately to another time and place.
The sense of smell seems to magically conjure up memories of people, places and things I thought I’d long ago forgotten. It anchors me to my past, even as it seizes my present and foretells my future. I can no more separate myself from it, than I can step outside my own skin. The odors of my life are forever ingrained upon the gray matter of my mind, forever a part of my being.
A whiff of Pond’s cold cream and I am instantly reminded of my grandmother, a ghost in a mask of the same. To this day, the scent of cherry-vanilla pipe tobacco evokes fond memories of my Granddad in his recliner, a pipe between his teeth as he reads the paper.
Mere photographs cannot bring me the vivid memories that my olfactory senses can. The scents cannot be recreated. Each déjà vu is a pleasant surprise which seemingly appears out of the blue to put a wistful smile on my face. Each odor is an old friend, waiting to share reminders of a simpler time.
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