Senses

Make your own.


Names I struggle to remember, dates are a sinkhole of lost numbers, old addresses, whole words swallowed up in the potholes of my mind. But I remember the smell of my mother's talcum powder, remember the blue round box with the horses, the two mirrors in the corner of the tiny bathroom, over the sink, the several different rugs over my time there. I remember the voices of people I knew thirty years ago, their faces and expressions, a hug from a girl after high school graduation, visual sensory memories that blur a bit, but stay clear and sharp in the middle.


So much would be easier forgotten. But that's not how my brain works. Take what I have and treasure it.




Oh, the intertubes are wonderful, it's Elizabeth Arden, Blue Grass Dusting Powder. The one luxury my mother allowed herself. It came with a lovely puff with a blue ribbon. Research is a joy.