...these are the things that crawl into the mind of a momma waiting in the parking spot outside the building, waiting on her little one to finish up her small group meeting and come out..
|(Photo via google images)|
I wonder sometimes about smells. It's such an overlooked and unappreciated thing. It's like really, unless it's fall with pumpkins, or Christmas with evergreens, smell is purely tied to things like poop or trash or whatever "ass" is, that we all label something nasty smelling.
But, you know, to this very day, I can hop inside an old car and immediately remember being in my dads old VW bug as a child in California. It was white, but the interior was grayish, I think. It had loops for handles above the doors that I loved holding onto. I was too short to reach them sitting in the deep seats, but back then we didn't really wear seatbelts (did it even HAVE any??) and so I would sometimes hang from it like a gymnast in the L.A. Traffic. I remember the upholstery was torn, and the yellow foam of the seats showed through in places. I guess an adult would care, but I sure didn't. I loved that car. The day daddy sold it was probably the first heartbreak I can remember in my life. He hadn't even told me he was selling it. A stranger came and drove my beloved bug away, and although I never got to wish it farewell, she visits me time and time again in the scent of aged leather and the sound of putt putt exhaust.
Did my parents ever notice the smell? Do they think about it? I wonder now if the smell of ancient fries and old happy hour cups will bring the einsteins back to the van of dreams one day. And they'll remember the zillions of road trips and meals-on-the-go and pull-up screens and movies that they enjoyed inside. I wonder what smells are being banked in their little heads for a memory down the road.
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