The Hood

I live in the city of Buffalo, New York. In South Buffalo to be exact. It's a small, close knit community. Sometimes too close, but that's fine. It reminds me of small towns or villages in movies, in nearby South Dayton where my grandparents lived while I was growing up or East Aurora. A trip to Vidler's five and dime store with lunch at the diner. Oh my, drifting but those are stories for another time.

It's a warm spring day, sitting on my porch, I watch the neighbors going about their business (and mine I'm sure).

Across the street, a couple of doors to my left, the little girl that lives upstairs has just told her father that she is a big sister now and to stop calling her his baby. Now there is a crushed Daddy. Downstairs, I see their landlady laughing at the conversation going on above her.

Next door to those neighbors lives who I call the cat lady. She has only one cat but gives me the impression that she could easily become the owner of 20 more. She is the owner of the house and in the years that I have lived here, she hasn't kept a tenant longer than ten months. She tries to control the tenants lives...strange they don't like that.

Directly across the street there was an elderly woman. No, not what you think. She's still with us but now lives in the middle of the block with that con of a grandson. Poor thing doesn't realize that she's being used. Now her landlady is a wonder. She, her son and two huge dogs (no idea what they are except BIG) live upstairs. She has lived her all of her life and knows everything about every neighbor on this street.

The couple that lives on the left of her are a sad pair in my mind. He's a bully and she puts up with him. In the dead of winter I can hear him yelling at her. In contrast, downstairs is a young couple that have the sweetest little girls on the block. The youngest is a daily reminder of my sister and the reason for this little ditty. Her name is Marie but I call her Sarah. She has long dark hair that she flips because she can and dances to the music in her head that only she can here. She is the neighborhood's little drama queen. I first became aware of her when she was in her yard and wanted to get back in the house. I heard her yelling...."Won't someone let me in? Why is this happening to me?" She sounded exactly like my sister. She stands on the hood of her dad's car and sings her heart out to anyone that will listen and has every little boy on the street at her feet doing her bidding. All this and she is only five...better keep an eye on her dad!

We have a few doors down a gentleman that I call "Idaho man". He moved here from Idaho a year or so ago and has been, up until now, the most annoying person I have ever had the pleasure of having as a neighbor. He and his family have invaded the street. They multiply like rabbits and are everywhere!

And that brings me to LaRue. LaRue is my elderly neighbor who now spends her winters in the Carolinas and Texas. She has to be the most lovable woman I have ever met. She is in her late 70s, and still very active. She knits lap robes for nursing homes and bonnets for preemies. She watches her grandson on the island almost full time and still manages to deliver for meals on wheels. I have spend many summer afternoons on her front porch just gossiping about the rest of the neighbors. It amazes me that she knows so much about her neighbors just by sitting on her porch...but then so do I.

The Smells of Life

smell n 1 the ability to sense things with the nose. 2 an odour. 3 an act of smelling. v 1 sense the smell of 2 give off a smell. SYNS n ODOUR, scent, aroma, perfume, fragrance, bouquet, stink, stench, reek; v 1 SCENT, sniff 2 STINK, reek *from the Oxford Dictionary and Thesaurus*

Now I bet you are wondering "What the devil is she talking about?" Well, I'll tell you. The other day I was rummaging through the refrigerator for something for lunch. The sliced turkey was calling me (I swear it was). And what goes good with turkey? Right, crispy bacon (my readers are brilliant). As I was frying the bacon, a memory of my childhood that was so strong, it almost knocked me over. I stood there and was transported to my Grandma Zaky's home. I loved the cottage she lived in. The first floor as you walked in was a mud room where Grandma would hang clothes in the winter and was basic storage. To the right was the kitchen...and to a little girl, huge. In the back of the kitchen to the left was the bath with the laundry beyond that. The stairs to the two bedrooms were in the back of the kitchen. And on the left was the parlor. During the winter months, Grandma would shut off the upstairs and sleep on the futon she had in the parlor and used as her sofa. She did this because the cottage was heated by a Moore heater in the parlor and the gas on gas stove in the kitchen (what I wouldn't give for that stove). We, meaning Jim and I, could only stay with her on during the warmer months. Oops, off the beaten path here. Back to bacon.

I was taken to the bedroom at the top of the stairs, the morning sun shining through the window. Grandma would never wake me, I was allowed to sleep as long as I like. However, even though she never woke me in the conventional way, she would wake me. I would be laying there, between the aired to dry sheets, smelling of sunshine when another smell would waft into the room...bacon, crisp fried bacon. This smell always reminds me of Sunday mornings with Grandma. I would stumble down the stairs (no morning person here) and plop onto the chair at my place at the table. Hair hanging in my face, head hung low and then there they came, two slices of bacon, along with eggs and toast. Then, dressed in our Sunday best, we would walk to St. Martin's for Mass. Now you have to understand, Grandma was a Roman Catholic, I'm a United Methodist. Two different worlds. And I loved to go with her. Please keep in mind that this was before Vatican II when Mass was still said in Latin. How I loved Mass in Latin. True, I didn't understand a word but it was elegant in the mind of a ten year old. Hell, it's still elegant in the mind of this 52 year old.

I love the smell of tobacco, cherry pipe tobacco, mmmm, I love the smell. Grandpa Jake smoked both cigarettes and a pipe. As a child I might be running through my grandparents home from the kitchen to the parlor by way of the dining room, coming to a screeching halt in front of the humidor. Opening the small door, I'd stick my face in there and inhale deep. Even though most states have laws now banning smoking in public places, ever now and again on a walk or bike ride in the neighborhood, some gentleman will be smoking a pipe filed with cherry tobacco. I have been known to turn and look for Grandpa.

Let's talk spring and lilacs. White ones, pinks ones, light and dark purple ones. A favorite of mine, my mom's and now my daughter, the smell of a lilacs brings floods of memories. It reminds me of Switzer's back property line. Warm spring days, under the fragrant bushes, sharing secrets with Laurie, my best friend. Memories of going to the railroad tracks on Leydecker Road to get lilacs for Mother's day with Dad in the spring and then for elderberries in the fall (hmmm, another story there). Shawn, Lenora's boyfriend, bringing me lilacs every other day just because she told him they were my favorites. Planting the lilac trees in the back yard of our first home and having them bloom in the fall after Mom passed, thanks for watching over me Mom.

All smells bring about some kind of memory, but not all the smells are pleasant. For example, the smell of a skunk. The smell of a skunk no longer bothers me, having grown up on a main street, which was heavily traveled by not only cars but large trucks as well, our street was hell on pets and small animals. A common summer night oder would be the pungent smell of skunk that filled the air. The smell was no longer pleasant after Ginger, our little terrier mix, decided to tangle with that little black and white kitty that made it's was to our back yard. She only understood that she was defending her family.

I did a little survey of friends to get their favorite smells...Randi loves the smell of men in Polo (so hoping she means the cologne and not the other polo) and the smell of bacon. Bleach is a favorite smell of Corky's, this may explain why she has become a treasured friend(I think we both have inhaled more bleach than we should). Darren is in love with the smell of bacon and strong black coffee brewing. In the time I have been friends with Darren, these scents are not a surprise to me. He has mentioned both in many a status. The sea is the favorite smell of Joj. Ted's claims his is "girls...girls...girls". Elvis has possessed him or my first thought is correct and I do not want to go there. Rexieman loves the smells of bacon (beginning to get hungry here) and fresh cut hay.

Other comfort smells for me are onions frying, burning paint, charcoal burning and leaves in the fall. When I smell Old Spice, Tabu or White Shoulders, I'm getting a hug from a loved one that is gone but most certainly not forgotten.

Next time you smell a fragrance, whether it's a rose, a turkey dinner or the smell of a newborn infant, embrace that scent and dive into the memory it brings you.