by Tim Robinson

Did you ever visit your grandma and notice her home had a characteristic smell? Maybe it smelled like cooking or mothballs or grandpa?  Strong memories of aromas linger.

As a kid, my folks would take the family for a visit in Seattle during the summer. We were suburban kids living in McMicken Heights by SeaTac Airport. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a two-story house in Seattle, with a cellar where grandpa kept his rose cuttings and begonia bulbs. He was an avid the gardener in the 40's and quite proud of his work. Grandma invariably had something cooking on the stove or in a pressure cooker. 

We'd walk in around lunch time to see the boiling pots and fresh food being prepared. And the smell of  mothballs. (Mothballs, were and are small melon tool sized balls of concentrated Napthalene, now banned in many countries as a harmful pesticide, but who knew then?). 

Grandma had several of those little white balls in each of her closets. Those balls were meant to repel moths from chewing on the wool in her coats and clothing hung in those closets. I can't recall if my brothers ever noticed it but I can recall how often I got very close to them, examining them with my fingers, sniffing them and feeling the grainy texture. I'm no moth but it might explain my fuzzy logic, as it has been reported that brain damage can occur from too much exposure. 

Aside from the repellants in her closets, Grandma was always ready to give us hugs and kisses when we arrived.  The kisses were planted on both cheeks and hugs were so tight her hair would smother your nose. 

Grandpa had one eye and no hair and never kissed any of us (we rejoiced). He grumbled, acknowledged us as not much more than he did  moths and retreated to his lair in the cellar. A dank, dark two-windowed stair flight into another world. Along with a few old trunks, stacks of wood, tattered curtains and rods, grandpa had a work bench. Flower cuttings and jars of bulbs from his garden sat jumbled together waiting for late fall to be planted.

Outside in the back yard grew dozens of red and yellow roses and a host of begonias of all colors. The roses were sweet, the begonias not so much. They were colorful without a scent. We know because we tried to getaway from the musty smell of the cellar. 

Playing in the back yard of a flower-growing grandpa for an hour loses its appeal fairly quickly. Anxious kids get bored if there are no "kid things" to do. Mom and dad recognized this and politely said their thank-you's to grandma and grandpa. "Give your grandma a kiss goodbye boys", mom said.  We lined up one by one hoping to "get it over fast". 

That was 65 years ago. I wish I could go back to grandma's house and give her a big hug and many kisses.