Persimmons. That was the smell, persimmon. I stood with my nose buried into the cloth, taking in the smell that brought me back to my childhood. Even thought I wash and iron all my stock I could still smell it. My mother used to pack her linens with a persimmon scent. Where she got it from, what she used, I don’t know. I didn’t want to put the towel down.
Mothballs, the next smell that came to me, brought me back to my grandmother’s house. Trying to sleep; on those rare times that we would sleep over and she would drag out the guest bedding. Bedding stored with packets of mothballs. To this day, the smell conjures up the memory of her; which in turn, brings up the scent of Noxima, the stuff she smeared on her face at night to remove her multiple layers of makeup. Of course, she had to kiss us kid’s goodnight before she took the goop off. Why? I don’t know. To this day, I can’t stand the smell of Noxima. Into the rewash pile this piece of linen goes. I’ll wash it with my new lavender-scented softener. I love the smell of lavender. It calms me. I need calming.
If you ever see me in The Treasure Shoppe with my face buried in my linen stock, giggling – don’t worry about me. I’m not the crazy woman in space B4. I’m simply taking my occasional trip down memory lane. .