Scents

I can't figure out how humidity in the air can change the way things smell. I awoke this morning earlier than usual. My coffee wasn't set to brew for another hour so I manually turned it on and went downstairs to put in a load of laundry. When I walked back into the kitchen it smelled like Gramma's home. I make coffee every morning, so how does a bit of extra moisture in the air change the way it smells?

Growing up in the hot desert of Arizona, I loved the times we'd go to California to visit Gramma. She would also say, "don't forget to bring your sweater" before we left, but we never did. (When it is 100 degrees at 10 o'clock at night, one cannot imagine needing a jacket anywhere within a days drive.)

Mom and Dad would load the car on a Friday night and we'd wake up early Saturday morning at Gramma's. The air felt so much cooler and I was told it was because of the humidity and breeze from the ocean. Aroused from my slumber by the thick aroma of coffee, I'd sneak out of bed to be the first to greet Gramma. I'd shiver after pulling the covers off, and want to hop back under the blanket. But the scent of coffee was too enticing. Gramma was in the next room.

Long before I ever thought about drinking coffee, it made an impression on me. Getting that first hug, sitting at the table watching as she sipped from delicate china cups, there was something so warm and inviting in that kitchen. The air seemed thick and heavy with that dark aroma, it surrounded you as if it you were wrapped in a blanket. The sunlight would stream in through the glass doors, creating added warmth. I loved being at Gramma's.

When I awoke this morning after last night's thunderstorms, the air was cool and had that same thickness about it. The coffee hung heavily in the cool, misty air as I walked through my kitchen. I was drawn in and melted into memories of Gramma's house. I sure do miss her.