October 16th's Prompt: Write about two different smells: one that triggers an unpleasant memory, and one that triggers a happier moment. I associate my unpleasant memory of smells with a nursing home. My sister, four years my junior, lived out her final years in a nursing home. Laurie was only in her forties and living with seniors. Advanced Multiple Sclerosis had robbed her of her independence and much of her dignity. Confined to bed or a wheelchair, Laurie could not fend for herself; toileting, bathing, dressing, eating, everything was done without her assistance. Like many of the residents, my sister suffered the indignity and discomfort of diapers. The most pervasive and unmistakable odour is that of urine; a sharp, sour, ammonia smell. Several incontinent people in one confined space contribute to this. Nothing masked this odour, but it tried to blend with various food smells. Coffee, stews, soups, fruits, all vied for the top note. Who would enjoy dining in a cafeteria with bathroom aromas? The other distinct odour was that of bleach. It never could eradicate the over-powering stench of urine, but it was a stubborn smell all its own. It was inescapable; clothing, sheets, and towels were laundered with it. All of these smells signal despair and frailty to me. The salty, pork smell of frying bacon and tear-inducing onions evokes memories of my nanny's warm kitchen. In that cozy room, my mother, aunts, and my Nanny would gather for a marathon perogy-making session. While chatting and laughing, potatoes would be peeled and boiled. Sauerkraut, vinegary and tangy, would be drained. Dough would me mixed , rolled, and cut. Flour would drift through the air and slowly settle on every surface. All hands were needed to fill and pinch each wonderful perogy. Our family perogy fests reminded me of that adage;' many hands make light work'. The chopping, the peeling, the cooking, the mashing, the mixing, the rolling was always well worth it because we anticipated sharing the fruits of our labours. |