Pine Flu
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We got our Christmas tree yesterday. Our timing was impeccable. Just as we got the girls piled in the monstrosity that is our double stroller, it started to rain. Not to be deterred, we headed to our favorite purveyor of pine. The one in front of the Natural History Museum. We were very decisive. I pointed and said, “I want that big one.” A nice and not hideous-looking mountain man wrapped it up, Husband threw the ten-footer over his shoulder and we marched home. Victory.
Our tree now stands proudly in the little library nook off our living room. And if you squint and look closely at the above picture, you will see that there are already two presents under the tree. My girls. My sweet girls.
As soon as that tree went up (thanks, Husband), the girls ran toward it, squealing. And, symbolically, they sat down together. Under the tree. From a short distance, I watched them. They played with a wine bucket full of ornaments. They fiddled with the branches of our new Frasier Fir. Gingerly, Toddler held a branch to her nose and inhaled. She declared that it smelled very good and then she held out that same little branch so her sister could sniff it.
I watched them, entranced by their tiny gestures and big love. At one point, Toddler looked up at me and said, “Hey, Mom! Take a picture of us.” And I did as told. I grabbed my camera and snapped away. Freezing time. Trying to at least.
And outside, it began to snow. Or was it sleet? I’m not sure and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Mother Nature waved a blustery hello. And I tried to capture the diagonal display, the white flakes, fleeting and fat. But in the picture, you can’t see them. Not really. It seems there are some things that cannot be captured.
I woke up this morning, this Sunday, and our house smelled of pine. And this smell makes me both happy and sad. Under its subtle spell, I am flooded with memories – of Christmases as a kid, of late-night letters to Santa, of that one time when I swore I heard reindeer hooves clicking on the roof. If I am not careful, these memories are dizzying and make me feel a bit sick and shaky. If I am not disciplined in my nostalgia, this smell, this sublime and impossible smell, makes me want to rewind. To go back. To have my Santa once more.
But as much as it rattles me, this Pine Flu also bolsters spirit and soul. This morning, as I looked at my two giggling girls, my two glittering gifts, I realized I love this time, this season. As my babies danced around that tree, that towering tree which must seem so big to them because it once did to me, I glimpsed memories in the making. And, in that moment, I caught a glorious whiff of pine, of childhood. Theirs.
And I realized that I don’t have to go back. I’m already there.
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What smells bring you back to childhood?
I can almost smell it.. wonderful.
Smell is my most acute sense, by far. I once dumped a guy in college because of the way his car smelled inside (well, that AND the fact that he was a slobbery kisser).
What most reminds me of home is the smell of freshly baked bread, or buttered popcorn, or anything really, that Mama made often for an after school snack. I’d open that door and take a big whiff, trying to discern what yummy treat was in store.
I envy you your pine-y apartment. One of the challenges of an interfaith marriage is ye olde December dilemma. Husband and I are still figuring out how to deal with ours; in the meantime, we remain tree-free.
The smell that takes me back to childhood is the hot lunch smell of my elementary school cafeteria. I run into it every now and then, in the supermarket, in restaurants – and I am transported back to a happy time spent in a very ugly uniform.
Lovely.
Baking smells – wonderful memories of my grandmother and great aunt (sisters), who both loved to bake. Especially at the holidays.
The smell of a pipe makes me think instantly and powerfully of my dad. Always.
And fresh cut grass in the summer makes me think of long summer days with my sister playing randomly outside.
What is it about this time of year that the smells lure us into yesteryear. I have been so nostalgic this week myself.
Enjoy your sparkly little gifts from God. Lisa 
There is nothing so beautiful as Christmas in the eyes of a child.
I started a tradition with my daughter when she was little. Each year we would take a trip to Owego a little village about an hour away and visit “The Hand of Man”. They sell collectible glass ornaments, like the ones our grandparents used to have.
We would pick out a few ornaments together. Skye absolutely loved that time of year and this excursion. The ornaments seem to hold that years memories. By the time she left home, she had enough ornaments for her own small tree. She continues the tradition on her own, buying ornaments to remember each year with her husband. I’m almost positive she will do the same for her children.
I didn’t have a lot of fond memories growing up, so I made new ones with my daughter. Christmas has never held such wonderment as it does now. Thank you for a beautiful post.(Hugs)Indigo
Oh, sisters
For me, it’s the smell of purse lint, Captain Black tobacco, and bacon.
Pine flu? Don’t know if I have it. Christmas doesn’t hold the best of memories for me (a post I am toying with). However, I DO love the scent of fresh pine trees.
The pictures you captured were beautiful. Just beautiful.
“It seems there are some things that cannot be captured.”
How profound. One cannot capture the nature of sister bonding time. Or mother-daughter conversations. Beautiful, tender, moments.
That is quite different from your original intent of this post. Sorry. Guess my mind is straying to different things these days : ).
Laundry dried outside on the clothesline… that smell defines my childhood summers. I’m smiling now as I type this. And waking up to the smell of sausage and coffee, always when we stayed overnight at my grandma’s house. What wonderful things to think about as I turn off the light to go to sleep.
“Husband threw the ten-footer over his shoulder”
Husband is ALL man.
Pine Flu could well be the next epidemic so be careful.
Isn’t is an amazing bonus of motherhood — how we get to relive the innocence of childhood all over again?
Pine Flu made me crack up. I was anticipating a post about allergies to pine trees, as I have a few friends that have discovered this allergy the hard way.
The only smells that I can legitimately say remind me of my childhood are barn smells — horses, leather and horse poop! I don’t have vivid memories of my childhood for the most part, but horses have been a part of my life for 23 years and I at least have memories of that. I don’t quite know if my head trauma is the main reason I don’t remember a lot of my childhood, or even of my young adulthood, or if I’m just not a person that remembers that sort of thing. All I know is that I don’t remember what happened at Christmas this year or that, or at my 7th birthday, or anything like that really. I don’t think I’m missing out on anything because I don’t know what it is like to remember things of that nature fondly. I’m kind of blank in that area, not good or bad really, just blank. Interesting.
Smell is a powerful memory jogger. The smells that take me back are the smells of a woodsy path going to my grandfather’s cabin at Lake Lure Noth Carolina. If you haven’t been to Lake Lure I hpoe you go some day. It is amazing. Other smells would be the smell of new bikes on Christmas day; There were eight children in my family so there was always a bike or two under the tree. And yes, Niki even horse poop and freshly cut grass of the pastures which included a hint of spring onions. The smell of my uncle’s stinky cigar and the list goes on and on. The best way of turning the bitter sweet memories into joy is to repeat them with those you love!!! Have fun this holiday season!!!