The smell of home

There are certain smells that trigger memories. Sometimes, a single wafting scent can take you from the here and now and drop you into a long ago past - a forgotten birthday party - a Sunday morning breakfast.

For me it was the odour of gasoline - a greasy tang that immediately reminded me of a dimly lit garage. It reminded me of tools, and grubby clothes. It reminded me of playing in the dirt as my father worked diligently - the rusty automobiles he restored with a Cinderella twist. My own father was the fairy godmother of rusty, metal beasts and loud, humming motors.

Even now, I could be walking downtown, and one of those vehicles could rumble past - never as loud and never as nice. Metal was replaced with alloys, and reliable motors with hybrids and more fuel efficient models.

Yet, always there was the smell. The smell of gasoline.

The smell of home.