Remembering the grama-grampa
house now has faded with time
but the scents and smells stay strong
in this jumble sale mind of mine
den redolent of evergreen
from closet conifer lined
I played without toys
had a grand old time
also scents of mothballs
from cedar closet of hers
placed to protect grandma's
coveted fox and monkey furs
In den lived countless curios
inkwell, gramophone, ukulele
something called a stereoscope
church organ grampa played for me
ornate marble top table
I now have in my bedroom
it holds her Christmas angels
and old Avon bottle of perfume
this ungodly heavy table
with fussy carved woodwork
made when quality mattered more
than figures in a ledger book
on it family photos displayed
inscribed with spider-writing names
smelt of masonry and musty dust
from oft-repaired antique frames
a vintage decanter set
gave off faint odors of hooch
a riding crop adding horse scent
long-gone dog leash, hints of pooch
everywhere notes of furniture polish
that iconic lemon Pledge smell
grampa took care to dust and wax
if he didn't she'd give him h-ll (🤣)
writing brought back memory
minds-eye looking out window
in fragrant warm contentment
watching as it began to snow
attic smelt of wet wool mildew
sniffs of kerosene in the air
of army blanket and mattress ticking
and old toboggan stored up there
basement nosed of cardboard
and the big Lionel steam train
board games by the fireplace
smoke with heated metal refrain
in cellar multi-tiered perfumes
engine oil, printer ink and Ajax
workshop, metallic, wood and glue
and solvents of epoxy and tacks
a beach-sand-water smell
did a spicy fragrance make
added to the overall aroma
of the house beside the lake
And best was grama's cooking
the savory, sweet and fine
her tiny kitchen table was
the very best place to dine
It's not just about smells
they have lessons to tell
about treasuring and preserving
and loving often, much and well
It's old things lovingly saved
curious curios, not really toys
lack of playthings far surpassed
by those bygone gestalt joys
A pair of tiny great grandma boots
A gun from American civil war,
A furry ancestor hat and photos
And super 8 home movies galore
Each with tidy foxed labels
history conscientiously taught to me
better than any book I've read
their bedtime reminisce-story
from photo album minty paste to
pine wood shaving and boot black
home movie heated celluloid
they all take me right back
such an olfactory cacophony
Throughout their home dwelt
so many happy memories live
in how their house smelt
When just a whiff I get
Scent memories in my brain
I'm transported back to the
home on Crestwood Lane
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