Amanda came into my office this morning in a rare friendly mood and said,
    “Yes! Now this place smells like old ladies.”
She was standing right by Trisket’s bed, which is under the desk, so I wondered.

    “You sure it doesn’t just smell like Trisket?”
    “If I leaned over and smelled her bed it probably would. But no, this is old lady smell.”
    “What do old ladies smell like?”    
    “Cinnamon and old libraries.”
That was a relief. She might have said something about pee. I pointed out the musty books that produce the old library smell, then directed her to the dried lavender and roses hanging on the closet door.

    “Take a whiff of that.”
    “That’s it! That’s the old lady smell!”
    “Oh I’m so glad. People always say old ladies smell like lavender”.
    “You like that?”
    “Yes. I love being an old lady. And I love that smell.”
    “You’re weird, Grandma.”

I’ve always loved smells – sweet, floral, sour, pungent, funky. Even nasty smells intrigue me, though I draw the line at those that make me gag. About ten percent of women lose the sense of smell as they grow old – this is known as anosmia. Parosmia- when fragrant smells turn foul – is worse. I hope I never suffer either one.

My garden is full of fragrant plants – citrus, roses, anise, tea olive and many more. The most successful is my HUGE lavender bush. It keeps going through frosty winters and baking-hot summers. I’ve never understood why it’s so happy in my yard. It reminds me of rosemary, but numerous rosemary plants have shriveled in the same bed. (I decide whether plants are similar according to whether they remind me of each other. I am not a skilled horticulturalist.) This year, for the first time ever, it has produced a single little flower. It also has a resident spider.

I love this plant. I tear off branches and carry them around with me for happy smelling. I used to put sprigs in all my drawers and in the linen closet and under the bottom sheet on our bed, until Joe told me he doesn’t like the smell of lavender. So now  I make big bunches of lavender to give to women in stressful situations, such as my friend April when she was pregnant and surrounded by babies. I hang bunches out on the atrium to dry, and then crumble them into ziplock bags to give away.

Every room in our house has a different smell, some pleasant, some not so. When I was little, I liked the musty smell of my grandmother’s New York apartment. I cherish the title “old.” click  I’m happy that my room – my retreat and my refuge, filled with photos and paintings of women – smells like an old lady.

Paintings by Arupa Freeman click

My mother at twenty

Collage by me (images by many, including Esther Garcia Eder click)