Do you still smell of vanilla and spring air?
I saw a production of 1776 last night. It's great to be at the theater...the smell of the greasepaint...the roar of the crowd...if you are in the audience, the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd....
Naw, the crowd smelled fine. Not going to launch into a discussion of appropriate scents for close quarters with unfamiliars. (Though I must say, I was wearing En Passant, and it seemed just right, including for that consideration.) I was struck, however, when John and Abigail Adams are singing their letters to each other, and John asks
Do you still smell of vanilla and spring air?
It rang a few sympathetic chords. First of all, spring has been a long time coming here in the Great Lakes midwest, and yesterday was notable for being a flat out true spring day, with a variety of birds chirping, sun shining, additional bulbs blooming, hosta peeking up, no jacket required, people in the park, etc. etc. And the day continued into night, weatherwise, for the very first time. I was able to step outside during intermission and leave my coat inside. The air was fresh, but no longer winter crisp. Today's rain is going to bring the perfect note on top, the smell of wet warmed earth and green growing bursting through.
Do you still smell of vanilla and spring air?
The line also got me thinking historically. There's been a lot of love going around the blogs for Vanille Galante recently. Haven't had a chance to try it myself. Certainly have enjoyed vanilla in other perfumes, like Kenzo Amour, and Organza Indecence. But vanilla, the pods, the extract, the cooking, the texture...that's what would have scented Abigail. Abigail there in the northeast, also spending every year anticipating spring. Abigail, encouraging her spouse to his cause, raising kids on her own on a farm that was failing. Making saltpeter. Do you suppose she made saltpeter, and wondered if that was what her spouse now smelled like? (Of course, he was in congress, not at war.)
Do you still smell of vanilla and spring air?
A lot of us are switching to trying to smell like spring air right now, or at least adjusting our scents to work with the spring air. And, of course, there is the perennial question of the Signature Scent, the holy grail of the one perfume you could wear always. That defines you, by reflecting you and/or describing you. Inviting a discussion about what it means to be described: does it capture a set of experienceable qualities? does it translate knowns into an amalgamated metaphor of you? does it provide something new, something other, which isn't a document of tangibles but of an idea of you?
...spring air...
There is of course a metaphor lurking right on the surface of that lyric. Does Abigail literally smell of spring air, as she does of vanilla? Does John think of her smell as that scent idea, whatever the clean fresh growing smell of spring means to a given individual?
...do you still smell of...
I needed this smell of spring air this year. Of course--is there ever a year when it is not welcome and needed? But this winter started early, came in hard, and lasted a loooooong time...accompanied by lots of relentless turmoil in my civilian life. Nothing that shall go in the history books like Franklin, but the kind of thrumming that becomes part of the landscape...until the landscape itself changes.
Spring, bringer of changes in the landscape. Visually. Aurally. Scentsually.
Do you still smell of vanilla and spring air?
Joy in constancy and familiarity...joy whose absence leads to longing and nostalgia for the same. And yet, that spring air also brings the idea of change, rebirths, fresh starts. To have the ability to experience both in one life...
Thank goodness for spring air.
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