I am thankful for the sense of smell. A few months ago, I walked into a room somewhere (I do not recall where) and I stopped suddenly because the smell was identical to my grandparent’s home in Aberdeen, South Dakota.
I could scarcely believe how real it was; cigar smoke, old wood, cookies and orange chocolate doughnuts and cold soda pop bottles, the sliding doors in the music room, sagging linoleum on ancient cellar stairs, and a collection of a thousand memories dating from 1914 on…resurfacing more than one hundred years later, somewhere in New York.
I am suddenly 12 years old but I’m not, but I am…the sheer magic of re-vibrating collective cells, wind and the hand of God.
690 Saint Paul 