Newly
mown hay. Balsam Fir needles. Lilacs. Ocean air. Eucalyptus groves.
These are some of the aromas you may love. Who doesn’t? After all
they are freely available, although the decline in agriculture has
deprived many people of the sweet scent of timothy grass hay. There
are lots of naturally occurring smells which evoke positive
responses. It is a very long list. It gives credence to the
effectiveness of aromatherapy, the application of aromas to enhance
or even induce a mood.
Then
there are the cooking smells. They are in a class by themselves as
conduits to rich memory experiences. There are the holiday sub-types
such as roasting turkey, sand tarts and schmaltz. I’ll let you read
about the latter on your own time if you need familiarization. That’s
also where you will meet the fascinating world of gribenes. Then too
there are the more ordinary aromas often associated with home baking.
Grandmother used to set aside a singular day of the week to do all
her baking. Her house and its environs were enveloped for the
duration in the most deliciously attractive essence. As a result,
baking bread of any flavor is a sure trigger for me. The point is
that the power of certain cooking aromas has the potential to
transport your imagination instantly to a place and time of distant
reckoning where you were imprinted by a complete experience.
It
is amusing and a little sad to see the attempts to commercialize this
all too human association. What self-respecting candle store doesn’t
carry some permutation of cinnamon fragrance? Every realtor knows
that apple pie and cinnamon are attractants to nesting home buyers.
Most open house showings include some element of aroma manipulation,
calculated to soften up the prospects if not to mask some
unpleasantness. Speaking of which, the lengths to which one can go to
mask offensive smells has been taken to silly extremes. It is
reminiscent of the preciosité
of the seventeenth century French aristocracy who fairly fainted at
the hint of a scent of anything untoward, not to mention the stench
of the streets which were ripe enough. There is a town in Illinois, I
think, where certain chewing gum flavors inescapably scent the air as
a part of the manufacturing process. This may be preferable to living
down-wind of a paper mill and it is no doubt taken in the same stride
by the citizens as a fact of life.
The
acceptance of this artificiality is a testament to olfactory
tolerance.
The
crowning extremes of this pre-occupation with aroma are the dizzying
array of candles and electrified room fresheners which attempt to
particularize the atmosphere with an ambient fragrance which someone
somewhere somehow has determined to be essentially pleasant and
positive. Are we becoming a culture of aroma addicts who require all
sensory experiences to carry the generic heft of clothes dryer
sheets? An occasional lavender sachet or a bar of scented soap is
about all I require. That kind of refreshment is a wonderful
complement to those beautifully folded linens and intimates that you
so enjoy. It’s nice to evoke a feeling of calm and order with a
subtle fragrance from time to time and to experience a peaceful
harmony.
Still,
Celeste
