Thursday, May 22, 2008

the sense of smell brings strongest memories

Last night, as I was falling asleep I rolled over and smelled something--I'm not sure what--and I was instantly transported to my childhood in Chattanooga, was rapid-fire recalling bits and pieces of that place I loved so much--memories of Yvonne and the mountains, of the drawl and honeysuckle.

I recently learned that without smell, your taste buds diminish in power significantly (Max 82-93). I also have heard that when you are smelling something, you are tasting it as well, which always simultaneously repulsed me and thrilled me when I was a vegetarian.

I love that there are certain smells that tell me, really, that the snow is over: the metallic smell of water from the hose being sprayed out onto bare patches of lawn, the smell of grass clippings, the way fresh air, circulating air smells in the bedroom at night. Winter and gray are so long here in Minnesota; it's so easy to forget what it means to be out in the world, to see everything so blue and so green. (Did you see that sky in the pictures below from camping? Wow.)

Our countdown is at nine student contact days (after this final hour coming up) and a half day for teachers. That's it, all on my fingers now. I was just writing a letter to my sister and though I am thrilled to close the door on teaching high school, I know I have some responsibilities waiting for me on the other side before I can feel free to completely focus on my MFA. I have the pesky issue of the M.Ed, a British Literature distance learning course with an incomplete that needs completion, and I'll have the regular responsibility of being a Wings mentor (oh, and the guilt there, some of the mentors have already met once or twice!). I need to be methodical as I work through these hefty tasks. I need to be responsible and kick the procrastination habit. (I need to do a little jig--today I finally returned the Humanities tests, which many had forgotten even existed--that's how long I've had them.) Methodical, goal oriented. Those are words I don't normally attribute to summer.

Work Cited:
Max, D. T. "A Man of Taste: A Chef With Cancer Fights to Save His Tongue." New Yorker 12 May 2008: 82-93.

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