My grandfather always had a bonfire at the weekend when I was visiting.
I would deeply inhale the smoke filled air and let the smell lodge in my memory cells. You know, the ones where years later the trigger whisks you back to that place in time like a book mark on your toolbar.
I have lots of those sensory triggers, paraffin takes me back to when I was five years old in Italy, our camp stove fire. Never mind that we used our camp stove up until I was eighteen, five is the age the smell whisks me back to!
So the smell of smoke in the autumn and winter transports me to my grandfather’s bonfire in their garden when I was three or four. I’d stand as close as he would allow and bathe in the billowing smoke. My woollen jumper and corduroy trousers would absorb the smell and I’d put them to my face when the air outside had cleared and inhale their woody aroma deeply. My hair too would hold the charred perfume for days afterwards and I would eagerly don the same clothes morning after morning until my grandmother grew tired of the smokey reminder following me around.
In America we are not allowed to burn off our brush and leaves in the back forty of a city dwelling.
I am not in America now and last month I caught a whiff of smoke; I was talking to a lady about the plants and wild life in the park,
“Someone’s having a fire,” I raised my face and sniffed. My three year old smile pencilled itself on my face.
“The borough is trying to ban the lighting of bonfires in the city,” she said, her middle aged scowl firmly etched in place!
“Oh?” I queried.
“Yes, my grand-daughter suffers from it terribly because of her asthma,” she continues, as if she had a personal say so in the borough’s decision.
I’ll have to live in the country if I want to be taken back to my single digit ages with the simple smell of smoke.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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