Yesterday I went to Home Depot. As I walked down the aisles filled with lumber, I breathed deep and filled my heart with the smell of fresh wood. I love that smell. I breathed faster so I could get a little more before I headed for the appliances. It occurred to me to wonder why I love that smell. I don't particularly like to build things, and I haven't spent a lot of time around fresh-cut lumber. But I realized that the smell of fresh wood is the smell of something that is new, something that is being created, and it fills me with hope.
The smell of fresh wood fills me with hope.
This morning I went out to the backyard with a pair of scissors. Our lilac bush is heavy with beautiful purple blossoms, and I wanted to take some to work with me. I looked at those tiny little flowers, all clumped together, and reached for a branch to snip. As my hand disturbed the stillness, the glorious scent that is lilac billowed up around me. I smelled the smell of childhood springs, of the peaceful evenings when it was someone else's responsibility to take care of me, of quiet afternoons on the swing, breathing in the lilacs. In the early morning light, I was flooded with a sense of longing. My mind spilled out memories of lilac bushes of the past, and the people who lived around them and brought the flowers into their kitchens--bushes and people and kitchens I love.
The smell of lilacs fills me with nostalgia.
Some days when I am in the living room teaching a lesson, Isaac or Wade will go in the kitchen and make some popcorn. The smell will waft out to me, and make my mouth water and my tummy start doing flip-flops. I love to eat popcorn, but I also love to smell popcorn. The dry, fresh smell of popcorn fills me with anticipation for the the salty, buttery heaven that is to come. Popcorn is who I take with me when I need a time out in my bed, or when I want to watch Singing and Dancing movies, or when making dinner is just too hard. Popcorn is comfort. Popcorn is peace.
The smell of popcorn fills me with happiness.
16 hours ago