I love it when my house smells like warm roasting dinner. Marjoram, thyme, garlic and the melting fat getting all crispy and delicious. It reminds me of my childhood and being at my grandparent’s house. In my memory, the roast smell goes with the smokiness of the crackling fireplace, my grandfather’s musky-clean-smelling aftershave, my grandmother’s root-vegetable-kitchen smell, and the bright-sweet smell of those pink peppermints they always had out in a white ceramic candy dish on the drum table next to the front window.
Yup. Last night, as I was tinkering around the house doing little this’s and that’s while dinner cooked, I was also basking in the warm glow of these memories.
Of course this morning all that’s left is the pungent, offensive garlic smell. Which is not really a happy morning smell for me, personally. I’m sure it’s cultural and for some this would be a great smell to wake up to. But me? I want to run to the nearest Yankee Candle and get some cinnamon, maple, or vanilla thing to blast away this unpleasant olfactory assault. Funny how smells are all relative.