There's No Smell Like Home

Today we drove to the Bay Area to visit Aaron's family and grab some beds for our boys at my grandma's home. The second I stepped out of the car and smelled the crisp lush air I knew I was home. The smell of the plants and trees the cool ocean breeze is so unique. I only find it there. My mind flooded with wonderful childhood memories. I love California. I love all the people and things to do. I love it's beauty.

We dropped off the trailer at Amatchi's that we will fill on Tuesday and bring back with us. The beds are my dad's and uncle's old beds in "the blue room". We plan on using the pristine plastic covered beds for our boys. I remember getting tucked in them for sleepovers--the covers tight and warm from the heated blankets.

The house is nearly empty now.

I spent so many happy hours there and I can still smell the crepes in the kitchen on Saturday morning and the tender meat (filled with garlic and all sorts of deliciousness) cooking before a family dinner. I can smell my grandpa's work clothes after he walked through the garage on Wednesdays (when my mom got treatments) and Judge Wapner's voice in the background. The scent of roasted chestnuts and real firewood burning in the fireplace on special occasions--I can recall them all. I hear my Amatchi humming as she irons with the scented spray starch and we play horse in the tv room or run around outside along the wood boards embedded in the concrete surrounded by her fragrant roses.

Everything is familiar to me. The smells more than ever. And I miss it.