I hear something smelling

When my brother was little, he used to run into the kitchen whenever my mom was baking and yell: "I hear something smelling!" We still use that phrase at Mom's house which always smells like food and flowers and books and soap and furniture polish. It smells like Mom.

I am a visual girl but I am also a big-time smell girl. I huff everything. I guess it’s my way of experiencing as much as I can of whatever I really enjoy, so I often make a point to inhale deeply whatever it is I love. I can remember how all of the most important people in my life have smelled, especially the men. Those smells are usually mixtures of things, all unique, all different, all burned in my memory. My usual deep inhaling includes my favorite places, the kids in my life, my disgusting dog, the roses in my yard, the latte at Starbucks, the newspaper, a new pair of all-leather shoes, my kid’s brand new textbooks—whatever. Certain smells transport and intoxicate me. Sniff something today. I know I will.

Just before my daughter was born, I discovered that Johnson & Johnson had changed the formula of their baby shampoo. It did not smell the same as it had for as far back as I can remember—and that’s a long time. As a very busy babysitter all through high school, I used a lot of the stuff and I remember what it smelled like: sweet and baby powdery. All of J&J’s baby products had the same smell. So, hugely pregnant, I stood in the baby aisle at Albertson’s and popped open the lid of the shampoo and inhaled, expecting to be delighted by the nostalgia of the sweet familiar scent. But alas, I was let down. My olfactory memory knew something was amiss. The scent of J&J’s “No More Tears” had been altered to a sort of fruity scent. Their baby powder still smells the same, but I was told it wasn’t good for a baby’s lungs, so I never used it. I was robbed of my sweet J&J baby shampoo experience with my own baby. Bastards. Why do companies do that? Why mess with a sure thing? Boredom? Job security? Desperately seeking relevance in the marketing department? Whatever the reason, it just doesn’t seem to be a good idea, as those of us who remember the “New Coke” debacle can attest.

But anyway, I have been mentally listing the items that evoke the most vivid memories of my childhood via smell. Here is my list so far of the products that still smell exactly the same to me:

Noxzema skin cream: I used this all through high school because I really believed one morning I would wake up and look just like Christie Brinkley. It never happened (if it had I sure as hell would not be sitting in my pajamas with a flatulent mutt sleeping on my feet while the GITB screams “honey—have you seen my ‘Cat in the Hat‘ boxers?” from the other side of the house. I would be in Manhattan having lunch at the Russian Tea Room with Vera Wang).

Revlon’s Flex shampoo and conditioner: I was a competitive swimmer from the age of 8 until my senior year of high school which meant I lived in the pool. And I used gallons of this stuff. I was thrilled to see it reappear on store shelves a few years ago and I did the store aisle sniff-test. Yes—it smells exactly the same.

Ivory soap. I would never use the stuff now because it strips every bit of natural oil and then some leaving the skin on my arms and legs looking like they were made of raffia. But I loved carving Ivory soap and making all kinds of utterly useless crafty doo-dads out of the thick white bars in girl scouts. Sometimes I pick it up and sniff it when I am in the store. It really irritates my daughter when I do this, by the way.

Vicks VapoRub. Whenever my brother or I came down with a cold, my mom used to rub this on our chests then wrap a towel around our necks and secure it with a safety pin so that the oily menthol greasiness wouldn’t get all over our pajamas. And she is an educated woman. Go figure.

Pepto-Bismol. Yes, it has a smell. It smells like pink. Also, I noticed when I ate a few of Schmoopie’s conversation hearts this past Valentine’s Day that the pink ones taste sort of like Pepto. So do the pink Necco wafers.

Folgers coffee from the can. It must be from the can. Nothing smells like a freshly opened can. The plastic bag stuff just does not smell the same.

Budweiser. When you say Budweiser, you have said it all, honey. And it smells the same. It smells like summers fishing in my grandpa’s boat.