Reminiscents

Wednesday, October 24, 2007 at 2:30 am (Writing by Ear)
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I’ve read that our sense of smell is one of our strongest memory triggers. It’s sure true for me. Revlon Aquamarine lotion = my mother. Grapes on the vine = home, where we had a grape arbor running along the back of the house. Fresh mulch = gardens, spring, fall, everything good. Certain perfumes = certain people, for better or worse.

My family has even dubbed a certain scent “babydolls,” and we all know exactly what that is. I can sit here and remember the smell of my dad’s old records. I can think open that door of the buffet where they’re kept and breathe it in. I love that smell.

Think about what scents are triggers for you. Is it a certain flower, a season, a place? Some smells I can’t even define, yet they take me back. A certain fuel oil smell reminds me of being on the ship at Semester at Sea. Some disinfectant smells like grade school. Incense and church — Catholics know that one. And of course there’s “l’air du PAT bus,” a smelly remnant of all those years of commuting.

Imagine the power in all this. If you could assign a scent to something you wanted or needed to remember. “Why, the future value in 20 years of $1500 invested today at 6%? That’s as easy as cherry pie — $4965.” Or, “It’s the darnedest thing. I think of the smell of cinnamon and I can remember everyone’s birthdays.”

If only it worked that way.

Of course, you have to take the bad with the good. Not all smells trigger pleasant memories. But fortunately for me, nearly all of them are.

Simon & Garfunkel gave us the sounds of silence. I present the scent of memories. Breathe it in.

God gave us memories that we
might have roses in December. 
                                      ~ J. M. Barrie

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Putting a face to a voice — or not.

Monday, October 22, 2007 at 8:22 am (Hack for Hire, Smile Lines)
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noface   My business is highly unusual, even among other free agent writers I know, in that I rarely meet my clients face to face. I’ve worked with people for years and yet know them only by their voice on the phone, their e-mail demeanor, their project savvy (or lack thereof).

I had the rare opportunity last Friday to meet one of my favorite clients for the first time. This is a national company I’ve worked with for 8 years or so, with offices all over the U.S., but I only started working with the Pittsburgh office a couple years ago. Elicia and I met for lunch downtown, and it was great to be able to put a face to the voice on the phone and hear about the company firsthand.

She is every bit as vibrant and intelligent in person as she is on the phone and in e-mail. What struck me most, though, is that I have a good 10-12 years on her. Funny thing about voices — unless someone is quite old or quite young, it’s hard to judge age. But yet, there I was — the older woman. Less hip. More hips.

I distinctly remember being one of the youngest at work — if not a wunderkind then at least a kind. Now I can be characterized as “that nice middle-age woman who writes for us.”

I still work with and have stayed friends with coworkers from 20 years ago. We all stumbled into middle age together, so it was hard to notice. But it happened. In fact, when Mike and I met a couple of dear friends for brunch today, our first five minutes were spent excitedly talking about new bifocals, cholesterol test results, and the merits of flaxseed and fish oil. Until we caught ourselves, had a good laugh about our collective geezerhood, and moved on to fresher topics.

So, is my age a help or a hindrance? Does it scream “experience” or “expiration,” especially considering that I work in marketing, where people create buzzes, gain mindshare, crave sticky Web pages, know what’s hot, and disdain what’s not. I honestly don’t know, and I’m not at that place where I can ask my client, “So, were you shocked at my age?”

What I do know:

  • Hair coloring is my friend (even though my mysteriously thinning hair is not).
  • I’m grateful for the visual anonymity of phone and e-mail (and not only because I can work in my bathrobe).
  • I’ve earned these smile lines, but the wonders of “aesthetic enhancement” are sounding better and better. As the commercial says, “Everyone will notice but no one will know.” Now that’s the work of a brilliant marketing writer, at any age.

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
~ Satchel Paige

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We’re gaining on it.

Saturday, October 20, 2007 at 8:42 am (Cottage Industry)
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pleasant valley wreathIt’s like a badge of honor, living in an old house — a “fixer upper. Glamorized by the rise of Martha (even after that brief fall — she was railroaded, people), This Old House, HGTV, DIY, Cottage Living, Coastal Living, Southern Living, and on and on — all full of eager, determined souls earnestly going on about “good bones” and “seeing the potential” and “doing it ourselves” and “adding a splash of color” to “make it pop.” Inevitably, these transformations seem to take either an industrious 24 hours or 7 years of hard labor.

I, on the other hand, came to fixer-upperhood reluctantly. We needed a house, the location was great, the house really does have good bones (or it did before osteoporosis set in), we could afford it, I wanted to be with Mike. How bad could it be? After all, I grew up in a house built in 1900 that had (and still has) the original ’40s kitchen and one bathroom for all 9 of us (plus the “Pittsburgh toilet” in the cellar — kind of a half powder room for those of you not familiar). And precisely two electrical outlets per bedroom, right next to the door. Well, yes, for the last 14 years I had lived in new or almost-new construction — does that matter?  

Oh, you bet it does. I’m all about pretty — choosing colors, decorating, accessorizing, adding that splash and pop. That’s what newer houses are great for. I’m not about knocking down crumbling plaster walls or picking 7 layers of paint out of staircase molding with a dental tool. That would be my sister — she’s taken on a number of abodes of a genre we in the family now refer to simply as “Kathleen houses.” 

Yet, here I am, 2-1/2 years later, still in the thick of fixer-upperhood. We have remodeled the bathroom, added a sink in the dressing room off our bedroom, painted the dining room, living room, bathroom, upstairs and downstairs halls, our bedroom & dressing room, updated the electrical, reinsulated the attic, re-landscaped much of the yard, front & back, and spent the last 6 months remodeling the kitchen, still a work in progress. Oh, and when I say “painting” that means days of scraping, patching, caulking, priming, THEN painting, all the while cursing the previous owners who painted latex over oil, among other atrocities.

With many more projects to go (including our current “outside” projects, also in the works as winter approaches), the house is still winning. But — dare I say it? — we just might be gaining on it. 

Who will prevail? Stop back — it could still go either way.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
                                           ~Friedrich Nietzsche
                                                             

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