The olfactory is tied to memory, more so than any other sense. Tonight, while out canvassing, I caught the scent of lavender growing in someone's yard, and I remembered, vividly, how I felt when I received a lavender-scented eye pillow from a dear, old friend. I smelled the water from a sprinkler on the pavement and grass, and it took me back to a very particular day the summer I turned five. Scent is powerful.
Today was a rough day. I had to "retrain" at work, which basically means I had to follow a seasoned veteran for half my shift, and then go out on my own later. I can handle the canvassing when I'm out doing it; the people I talk to are here and gone, but I struggle with the interactions with coworkers.
The turf (that's what we call the area we're canvassing) today was Green Township, and I had a particularly affluent section of it. As the old saying goes, "Money don't make good people." I had doors slammed in my face, I was called terrible names, etc. I don't really care, but after a while, it was starting to wear on me. Then I reached a house I'll never forget.
I walked up the drive and along the white picket fence that followed the impeccable yet subtle landscaping up the walk to the porch, stepped to the door, and rang the bell. As the door opened, I smelled what had to be fresh baked cookies and old piano. The lady at the door seemed somewhat rushed but pleasant, and let me get through my bit. As she was signing, a buzzer went off in the kitchen. She apologized, and said she'd just be a moment. Turns out she was baking cookies. When she came back, she donated and agreed to write letters (that's all 3 parts of our campaign, by the way). I commented that when she opened the door, I swore I smelled fresh baked cookies and old piano. She looked astonished, stepped to the side, and pointed at her 5-foot grand in the living room. She asked if I could smell how old, and I guessed over 100 years. Apparently I nailed it, and she offered me a cookie while I finished her receipt. She came back with two, fresh chocolate macadamia nut cookies. They were exquisite.
I swung back by the house later to get the letters, which she dutifully placed outside at 8:30 on the dot. I made it about a half mile down the street, and realized that I needed to go back; I had to thank her again.
I rang the bell and told her, on a personal note, how much her hospitality and kindness meant to me, in my non-specific hour of darkness and need. She blushed and reminded me that there are still good people in the world.
That's true. And I'll always remember that good when I smell fresh-baked cookies and old piano.
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