Here's the story on these photos. I got this scarf in Portland. (Guess where?) I hand washed it, and hung it in the bathroom to dry. The sun was coming in the window. Something about the light filtering through the scarf fabric was completely mesmerizing. Had to photograph it. Would still be photographing it if the camera battery had not eventually died. What is wrong with me? Do other people fall in love with hanging scarfs?
About that tank top. So, I was gathering up clothes to throw in a load of
laundry. Saw a tank top on my closet floor. Had I worn it and thrown it there,
or had it fallen off the shelf above in a still-clean state?
Couldn’t tell, so
I had to smell it. (Who hasn’t done the sniff test? Come on, admit it.) Anyhow
I took a breath and was transported back to Kelly’s apartment in Portland.
I could see her sitting beside me in that place so specific in scent: 100-year-old
building mixed with the laundry detergent she uses, her cat, her Lovespell
frangrance, the rainy damp air coming in through the window, and Kelly herself.
I can never wash that tank top again. Don’t worry, I’ve got extras. I bought five
of them when the Gap had them on sale for an amazing 97 cents. They’re great for
working out or for sleeping. I wore this one for PJ’s in Portland. It’s
tucked into my purse shelf now for safe keeping. 
Is it silly of me to want
to store a memory on the shelf for easy access? I can’t help it. I want to hold
on to that tank top just as it is: Kelly in the form of a shirt that I can smell
at any time. Don’t we all try to hold onto the things we love? Sometimes we
can, sometimes we can’t. Sometimes we settle for even just a little piece.
I love the sort of nostalgia a scent can bring back. I had a couin in town last weekend, we stepped into an elevator and I said "it smells like grandpa in here" we both couldnt stop laughing at the fact grandpa smells like an elevator but it was such a heart warming moment.
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