Yes! For once, science backs my play….
Swearing Makes Pain More Tolerable
I think I always knew this on some level, despite the naysayers who simply think I have a potty mouth. No, I was enacting highly sophisticated mechanisms in this ol’ human rig to help me deal.
Pardon me whilst I engage in a vindication dance.
: shake shake bootay :
Earlier today, in a meeting at work, one of my teammates was given a gift from our clients. It was a really nifty wool stadium blanket.
Another lady asked to look at it, and when it landed in her hands, she brought it to her nose and took a good deep smell.
Just writing that…I know you know that smell, right? Nothing else smells like wool.
I smiled, because I was across the table and I knew exactly what she was smelling. I thought to myself about my own memories of the smell of wool.
Usually winter, outside, snowy day in Albuquerque (the only time it would be cold enough to wear a wool sweater). That perfect storm of smells combined, wool, a snowy day, a bit of sweat and the dirt on my mittens (that got there from making a snowball to lob, offline, at my brother).
Yeah.
So then this got me thinking about the deep associations made from odors, both good and bad.
But I was thinking about good…about the smells I deeply love.
The first that immediately came to mind was leather. I mean, unless you are a PETA advocate, who doesn’t love the smell of good leather?
Just that smell can dredge up lots of happy memories.
Like…the combined smell of leather and saddle soap you get upon opening the door to a tack room. Especially when I was taking riding classes at NMSU, because that tack room had rows and rows of saddles, all smelling nice.
Or…back when we first started dating, The Good Man had this black hard-leather jacket. It’s now too big for him and I think he recently gave it away, but I can easily remember that smell. Hugging him really tight, sinking my face into the shoulder of that jacket and inhaling deeply, tattooing the scent of cute boy and leather deeply into every single cell of my being.
Yeah.
Or, or….how about the smell of a new baseball glove? So many kids will get a new glove and spend lots of time with that thing firmly over the face inhaling. Nothing like that smell.
But I seem to be stuck on leather…
What’s another good smell?
Oh, I know! So…up and down the peninsula here, they have tons of Eucalyptus trees. Early in the morning or very late at night (depending on what side of the nightclub you’re on), when you get the heavy damp fog, it makes those trees let go that very distinctive scent.
The moist, cool damp and Eucalyptus smell… when I travel somewhere else, and then come home, I always latch on to that smell first. It’s SO the Bay Area. Easily identifiable by anyone who has ever lived here.
Here’s an easy one for all the New Mexico folks…the smell of chiles roasting. Utterly identifiable…for miles. So reminiscent of home.
Summer rain on hot pavement. God I love that smell!
Sheets washed with Downy and dried on the clothesline. Haven’t done it in years, so who knows if it smells good anymore? Doesn’t matter, in my memories, it’s always fantastic. I think it helped being in NM because stuff dried really fast and didn’t pick up too much environmental yuck.
Home baked cinnamon rolls served on Christmas morning.
The soap and water smell of my husband just after he emerges from the shower. So delicious! (ok, that’s two about The Good Man, sorry!)
This is kind of funny, but how about the first time you noticed the distinctive smell of money? For me, it was after getting paid allowance for the first time with the kind of money that folded, not jingled. That dollar bill smelled like potential to me.
Aw, heck, I suppose I could go on all night this way.
I’m sure there’s some scientist who would explain how odors can make such vivid memories (like here), but I don’t need to know the science.
Right now, I’m sitting on the couch, watching a baseball game…thinking of how the yard smells on a nice July night like this. Garlic fries, hot dogs and marine layer.
Indelible.
As a writer, I’m always interested to see, year to year, which words end up getting added to the dictionary.
Usually they are popular words that bee-bop around the lexicon and eventually get legitimized.
Generally, once the word is added to Merriam-Webster, the trend is so over…
Anyhow, here’s a sampling of new words recently added:
Staycation (my *god* I loathe this word…and I’m a lover of words!)
Frenemy (pretty much hate this one too)
Locavore ( : sound of head pounding on desk : )
And a new definition for sock puppet (whatever)
*sigh*
I’m sure that words like tweeple, facebrag and running latte are soon to follow.
Is it a bad sign that Urban Dictionary has become a legitimate reference tool?
Ah well.
I blame NewMexiKen and his recent blogging about citizenship tests. I pondered on it a bit in this post too, but lately, I’ve been thinking a bit about being an American and, yes, in my post-Fourth of July haze…about being patriotic.
I still get a proud chill when the Blue Angels fly low overhead. I put my hand over my heart when they play the Star Spangled. I can recite the Pledge of Allegiance with practiced ease.
Patriotism sort of became a bad word during the previous administration, where aspersions were cast left and right about who was and was not patriotic. That made me grit my teeth.
So ok, I don’t wear it on my sleeve, but sure, I am patriotic. I own it.
When I read this article in today’s Las Cruces Sun News, I have to admit, I got a little lump in the throat proud.
A small piece, really. Just a short bit about a local boy scout troop doing a proper ceremony to dispose of soiled flags.
I don’t really know all the rules about flying the flag, but I know enough. I get testy when I see a flag flying in the rain. Or unlit in the dark. Or when it’s been whipped to shreds but still flies.
I don’t really do anything wacky about it, like the guy who tore down the Mexican flag on the UNM campus when he noticed a violation of flag protocol.
But I notice stuff and it bugs me.
It was an interesting read at the VFW site about the main code for flying a flag. I learned a little there.
Also interested to see the link to this site, a company that provides proper disposal of a flag for a fee.
Mainly, getting back to the event held in Las Cruces, I was just happy to see a new generation of kids is learning respect and both the proper way to fly, and when the time comes, dispose of, Old Glory.
Photo recycled from this blog…taken at Fort Stanton, NM
After scoring a just barely passing score on the citizenship quiz over at NewMexiKen, I was starting to maybe feel a little, well, un-American.
But then on the drive home, I got to thinking a bit. And something came across the radio that changed my mind.
It was the pre-game show for the San Francisco Giants at the St Louis Cardinals.
As you know, before each baseball game, it’s mandatory to play the national anthem. On this first of July night, in that fine midwestern town, the Star Spangled was performed by some children from a local elementary school.
And as those kids honked and wheezed their way through our nation’s anthem, the kid on cymbals at least a half beat off bombs bursting in air, the rest of the children blowing notes resembling my car horn, I felt a familiar sense of pride.
I love hearing caterwauling children shriek out the Star Spangled. I love third grade bands lumbering through the difficult tune with all the heart and gusto of Francis Scott Key himself. I both giggle and get a sense of solemnity at the same time.
Hearing those final words, “…the home of the brave”, the ump call “play ball!” and I settle back in a plastic stadium seat with a beer and a dog, that always gives me a safe, satisfied, proud feeling of being an American.
I realize that there are people living under tyranny, people who can’t get a fair election, people who don’t know where a next meal comes from because their stuff was taken by their government. Sometimes I can’t even fathom how hard that must be.
And ok, sure, I totally blew that there are 9 and not 11 justices on the Supreme Court. And ok, I muffed that senators last six and not four years….
But damnit, as we head into this Independance Day weekend, I’ll step up and say I’m as much of an American as I need to be.
I know that’s true, all because of a bunch of kids from Missouri and the magic of AM radio.
