Stop And Smell The Roses

It never ceases to amaze me how a simple smell can conjure up so many memories. I think it is the sand that forms the cement of moments. I remember smells vividly. Today it is the smell of fresh cut grass.
I remember playing town soccer as a child. They would cut the fields on Friday for the games on Saturday morning. My team wasn't the best, but we played hard and had lots of fun.

Several weeks ago when I was in Long Island and looked at the old summer cottage, the first memory that came back to me was of the smell of my grandfather's workshop. It was in the basement, so it had an amazing earthy musty smell. The place was magical and I have been transported back there whenever there is even a hint of that smell detected by my nose.

When I was in eighth grade, I had a teacher that, at our graduation practice, had us stop and inhale through our noses and take in the smell of the moment. Whenever I go to a church that has a shalacky smell, I think back to that day with great detail.

Now I find myself explaining to my children and relearning myself the importance of stopping and "smelling the flowers".