that the inside of my piano smells like my granddad’s house?
Seriously.
TJ was dusting and switching the runner along the top of the piano for me earlier and while he had everything off the top he flipped it open to have a sticky beak (He’s a kid. Curiosity is his job).
He calls out to me saying “you can sure tell this is really old Mum!”
And you can.
By the smell.
And it smells like my granddad’s house.
I remember at my granddad’s house there was this one room…
It was in the middle of the house. A formal living room full of heavy, tapestry covered chairs with an assortment of velvety, feather or thread stuffed cushions, wedding portraits on the mantel, chunky occasional tables covered with lacy doilies, delicate porcelain ornaments and more photos in fancy metal edged frames. There were elegant twin porcelain Siamese cats that stood knee high with ashtrays for hats. The windows and a flimsy white door that lead to the veranda were covered in thick drapes that completely blocked out the light and there was an antique upright piano near the door.
The solid, cream door that was always shut.
Not because the room was out of bounds, but just because it wasn’t a room that was ‘lived in’ day to day.
I sometimes wondered if perhaps it was left as my Nana liked it…
I often imagined that I could feel her there…
I wondered if she smiled as we ran though playing tag or laughed with us learning to play on her old piano, or if she hid with us as we played hide and seek ducking our heads behind the massive arms of the lounge chairs while stifling our giggles behind our hands.
My Nana died when I was 9 months old. I have no memory of her but I have impressions.
Impressions gathered from the memories of people who have them and from the home she created. Impressions of a lady who loved her family and did her best to give them a lovely home. Of a lady who considered every child and grandchild precious, no matter what. Of a lady who knew her own mind and followed her heart.
Mum and I have been doing a little family history stuff lately and she’s told me another story – I didn’t know that Nan eloped with Granddad. My nan was Anglican; my granddad was Irish Catholic. Mum recently told me about how my nan ran away with my granddad to my great uncle who was a catholic priest living in a religious community in Ballarat. My nan received six weeks of instruction, converted and they were married. Apparently it was a huge deal and caused a great scandal.
Definitely a lady who followed her heart…
Isn’t it funny how smells can transport us to other times and places?
It’s about 25 years since I was last in my granddad’s house. He died when I was around 11, but I will never forget the smell of that room or the joy found there as a child and now I just need to lift the lid on my piano to remind me.
Our olfactory sense is very strong and is strongly linked with memory.
I was walking through the city and I passed someone who was wearing Shalimar perfume. I instantly thought of my dear, passed Grandmama and became lost in thought about her.
If I smell that perfume I can ‘feel’ her there.
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That is so moving B.
I know what you mean.
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Yep, I get you with the smell evoking memories.
Thanks for sharing such a lovely memory of your Nan
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What an evocative post, B! I loved it.
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That is an amazing thing about smells. I still have a very strong sexual reaction to the smell of Ivory Soap. But that is a story best left for another time.
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Great post!
‘Salina told me yesterday that our neighbours’ (both over 80) house smelled like old people “just like Nana and Grandpa” – I was gobsmacked.
When did my parents become old people?
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My dad’s flat and furniture smelled like stale, very old smoke. He sat in there day after day for many years almost chain smoking. Whenever I smell stale smoke on a customer now I’m taken back to my dad’s flat in my mind. I remember washing the walls after the furniture was removed, they were a light brown colour as was the ceiling, but as I washed I discovered the walls were actually a pale lemon colour and the ceiling was white.
beautiful post babe. I need to find my own ‘piano’
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I have such an old piano in my workplace. It, too, has a distinctive smell. Whenever we use it we say it smells like Miss XYZ who was the founding teacher of the school.
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Beautifully written! It’s funny how you can also remember smells the same way you can picture images or sounds in your head! I “imagined” the smell of your piano and I can sort of smell it in my mind, or at least what I think it smells like.
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It’s strange how an odor can remind you a place or a cloths or something. In my grandparents home the living was for sundays, during the week everything took place in the kitchen. That’s funny because they lived in Germany.
When I married 40 years ago it was also complicated ! I was protestant and Mr. Gattino catholic. Lots of papers !
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Wow B,
That was very sweet. I agree, smells can take you back to places you haven’t been in years and the memories are as palpable as the real events. Amazing, isn’t it?
Annie
Awesome post! I can totally feel this one. I bought an older house with my hubby that we could fix up (plus, we couldn’t afford new anyway). We got a sound home that needed updating. Our upstairs is an attic as it is a sort of “story and a half” cape cod home. We haven’t gotten around to renovating that yet since there is a bedroom on the first floor. I am torn between not being able to wait to re-do the upstairs and not wanting to because it has the same type of carpet my Nana had at her house and it has that same scent and feel to it that her house had. I love to just go sit up there and look through my stored photos and junk I have up there. It’s a wonderful break.
Don’t lift up the lid too often or the smell will disapate…
Lovely post.
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oops. I mean dissipate. Too early in the morning…
Frogdancer’s last blog post..Deflated.