The smell of apple

Years ago, I lost my sense of smell, later regained it, then lost it again. I hadn't been able to smell much of anything or taste anything, much less anything amazing, for a couple years now.

I say "hadn't" because last week, I realized my sense of smell was back. I was excited to be able to smell something, anything, and everything I ate was the Best. I. Ever. Had. Chocolate, which was nominally unappealing because I was sick, was incredible, even the crappy stuff.

Sure, there were downsides (hello, kid poop!), but, wow, being able to smell, yeah. It's something no one really appreciates until they can't smell any longer. I often wonder how bland food is for smokers, who typically have a diminished sense of smell. Their sensory experiences must be boring.

Given that my sense of smell returned when I was in Canada (in particular, away from my house and the dogs), I now wonder if the loss of my sense of smell is the result of a low-grade allergic reaction to the dogs. The timing fits. The reaction somewhat fits.

With my sense of smell back, though, a whole load of memories have begun returning as I catch the scent of things remembered. I pulled an apple off the tree today to eat. As I lifted it to my nose, I was overwhelmed with the smell of apple, and the memories of my grandparents backyard, of eating apples dipped in sugar at their kitchen table, of walking with my grandfather, of picking apples off the ground and tossing them into apple bucket.

Another set of good memories returned with the sense of smell. I'm tempted to stick my nose in all my flowers and all my clothes and all my plants.