The smell of love

I was prompted today to think about scent. The women of my life have all been glamorous, beautiful and intelligent. With the exception of my Mother they have also all had a signature scent.

I don't know what my Dad's Mum wore, although knowing her I would bet on Chanel No5. I do remember the smell of her shampoo. She had a shoulder length bob of dark grey hair. I was lucky enough to be indulged by her as she sat still and I endlessly teased, crimped and sprayed her hair. (It was the '80's) Her hair smelled of apricots and honey. And I loved the silky sheen of it in my hands.

My Great Grandmother and Grandmother (on my Mum's side) both wore a Dior scent that came in a cream and was kept in a cameo brooch in the jewellery box. My Great Grandmother would play singing games with me as a baby and I can still see her blue rinse and wrinkle lined face as she twinkled her hands at me, showing me the stars.

As for my Grandmother I remember her sitting in the front of my car as I drove her and some of my friends to a movie. I remember that perfume filling the space as she joked about Marijuana as my straight edge friends' mouths fell open in horror.

My Mother is a Doctor and chooses not to wear perfume to avoid allergies in her patients. I think the scent I most associate with her is the slightly burnt, slightly sweet smell of "Charcoal Cake" a dried apricot and bran loaf that used to get burnt in our old oven, hence "charcoal".

For me each scent is a memory and a journey through who I have been and who I am becoming. But each scent is also an emotion. With each sniff I can feel the love.