# 020 Olfactory TeleportaShawn

It amazes me just how visceral an odour/scent can re-awaken a long past memory, place or time, in an instant.

On two occasions today I was transported through space and time. And both destinations could not have been more different. 

The first occurred on my morning commute as I got on the 121 bus at Cote-Vertu Metro, heading to work. At the best of times you are introduced to many a 'fragrance' on the Bus (and in the metro) I often consider shoving two wine corks up my nose in the Summer... In general things are more tame this time of year. Today was not one of those days. Just as the last few morning commuters crammed onto the bus it was as if I heard the bell ring in my Junior High School, and it was time for Gym Class. The locker room was at a constant 95% humidity, and smelled of a tangy melange of mildew, angst and awkward teenage male hormones, BO and Mennen Speed Stick. God how I hated gym class, and the main reason was because for a solid hour after, that was still all you could smell. Thank god for High School when Gym became an elective which I quickly opted out making that smell a distant memory... well until today. 

Fast forward, to my evening commute. On my way home on the Metro someone entered the car I was in at Plamondon Metro. In that instant I was no longer sitting in the metro car, I was at my Grandmother's house, or more specifically on the back porch. It was Summer time, I was probably 8 or 9 and was spending two weeks at her house. 

- When I was younger my Parents were divorced and over Summer Vacation I would spend a few weeks with my Mom's Mother. Some younger boys might not have enjoyed that, but I was always close to her, we were two of a kind, our birthdays only a week apart. Like sibling separated by two generations. So this was always a great time for me. And on top of it I was away from my dick of a brother AND Point Pleasant Park was my playground. I can assure you I was not suffering. -

There was a large wild rose bush next to the back door. It would flower all summer long. It was impossible to be there in the Summertime and not smell those roses. 

I can remember all those Summers spent at her house, playing down at the park, going to the country to the old family homestead. It seems like yesterday. And a large part of me wishes it was...

-

On reflection, I am glad that these two scented flashbacks happened in the order they did... the later more than making up for the former. Not to mention that my sense of smell has returned, post-plague of last week.

#002 TemptaShawn

If you know me, you know I love and live for Winter. 

I don’t ski, skate, or do any other winter sport, but I love to watch them on TV, but that's not why.

I guess I just never out-grew that grade-school obsession of hearing of cold and snow in the forecast and immediately praying to God, or the Devil  - whoever it took really, (you do what it takes) for a snow-day.  Back in the day I’d go out and play all day in the ice and snow,  never really noticing how cold I was, or how wet the mittens got until it was time to go back inside. Then, that gut-wrenching moment, the decision that MUST be made… do you do your night’s homework, or has the temptation of not having to go to school the next day pulled so strong that you’ve already blown it off and begun planning the fort you will spend the day making, or the  snowman you’ll make as tall as the trees in your yard? It’s a gamble, but you’ve learned over the years to read between the lines of the smiling forecaster, and even though you know that 25-35 cms of snow will not materialize… it’s already too late. The lure has proven too strong, there’s no going back…   now it’s a waiting game.

These days, when I hear of cold weather and snow on the horizon I still pray for the snowstorm of all snowstorms… even thought I will still have to go to work…  but oh… taking those first few steps in a fresh coating of snow… (that much more a rare sacred moment when you live downtown in a big city.) Being the first person to make a path in crisp new fallen snow…  that act calls to me, tempting me with the pure simple pleasure of being the first.

And even if it doesn’t snow, a teeth-chattering, bone-numbing arctic-blast is still welcome. And today is such a day.  It’s -25’C outside right now (-39'C wind-chill) and I’m not complaining…

I know how to dress for Winter. I’m not an idiot.

I HATE THE HEAT.   My inner body temp must be a few degrees higher than most because I can’t cope with hot weather. I’d rather have to warm myself up a bit than try and cool myself down.  

As soon as I go outside on a day like this, I’m immediately drawn to 3 things:

1) That Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin walks outside, stands in place, scrunches up his nose and face and in the forth frame say, “Don’t you hate it when your boogers freeze?” and I laugh to myself, each and every time. You know it and I know it. It’s going to happen. The real question is how long will it take? Can you resist the urge to twitch your nose… once you do, you can’t stop. It’s a contest you know you’re going to lose. Immediately I am a child again.

2) The sound my boots make when I’m walking. It’s a combination of fingernails on chalkboards and a string quartet playing some never-ending staccato air. It’s bittersweet. You love the sound, and you hate it at the same time. It travels up my  spine and back down with every step I take. Even as you read this you can hear it and feel it travel from foot to head and back again. There’s no mistaking it. I can get lost in the sound, mesmerized, hypnotized by each and every step.

3) “I triple dog dare you!” and *cue* tongue on cold metal. (from A Christmas Story.)
I did that once. On one of the main posts on our swing-set in the back-yard. I think I was maybe 6 or so. I remember my tongue freezing instantly on contact with the pole. I also remember being alone at the time and not sure what to do…   It wasn’t as cold as today however, and I guess in my state of fear and exhilaration (yes, exhilaration… have YOU ever stuck your tongue to cold metal.  It’s freaking crazy! Unless you have done it or try it, you cannot completely describe the sensation), I guess I managed just enough tension pulling back  and was blessed with over-active salivary glands that enough saliva was pouring down my tongue so that it wasn’t freezing and it loosened my tongue. And with a *pop* Jack Frost released his grip on my tongue.

I’ll tell you this… as exhilarating as it was, It’s never going to happen again.

But the fascination I have for Winter, the allure of its stark beauty, the desire for the next Snowpocalypse is just a day away.