Scent

It is Day 1 of my vacation. I slept. I stayed up late reading, and that may be why I was so groggy this morning, but I had a low sugar too. And it's a rainy day which always makes me sleepy. Anyway, vacation is for rest.

My plan for today is Hobby Lobby. My yarn is out of control. I've tried several times to organize it and all my attempts have failed. Nothing works. A few years ago, I started making storage boxes out of plastic canvas as a way to organize my fabric stash. I decided what works for fabric will work for yarn. I really wanted each skein of yarn to be in its own little cubby but the skeins aren't all the same size. Which means the cubbies must be different sizes. Which means they don't really stack together. I saw a wine rack being used for yarn storage. It was beautiful, tall, iron, little bit of rust, filled with a rainbow of fiber...ah, it was textile porn. That's what I really want, but where the hell would I put it? And would my jumbo sized yarn skeins fit into a narrow space meant for a wine bottle? A big box will just have to do until I can afford a grand old house with 12 foot ceilings.

After I settled on Hobby Lobby, I showered. As I got dressed, I wasn't focusing on anything in particular. I wasn't really thinking about anything. I was standing in my bedroom and I breathed in a very familiar scent. Granny's kitchen I thought. Then I wondered why I could smell baking ingredients in my bedroom. Then I wondered why I could smell a place that doesn't exactly exist anymore. Sure, the house still stands. Yeah, I've been in that house a few times since my grandmother died. But it's not the same because my aunt does the cooking now and about 15 years ago she remodeled the whole house. So why am I suddenly smelling all purpose flour, bacon grease, and the faint tinge of ugly, gray Phenix City dirt?

What's really weird to me is that I didn't smell my grandmother's personal scent, I smelled a scent I strongly associate with her. I could smell her KITCHEN. What's even stranger is I haven't cooked since last weekend, I don't remember the last time I baked, and I don't cook like her or even buy most of the stuff she used. And I wasn't anywhere near my stove.

I'm not sure what she was trying tell me, if anything, or what cooking has to do with my messy sewing room. I don't know if she was actually here or if it was a random memory that popped up. But I do know I want to get to Hobby Lobby before it starts raining again.