Mother’s day

The scent of the Lillies of the valley standing on the kitchen table reach my anosmia and reminds me that they summer together with the last day of school IS here (even if the whether tells me differently).

Yesterday (Swedish Mother’s day) was spent at my childhood home (most probably for the last time) as my parents are moving in a week.

Strange thing this. I have been quite rational in the whole thing, as I moved for more than 20 years ago. The memories I have, I still have. And our parents are not getting younger and they themselves want to move (which is quite spectacular, as they both are 70+ and change usually don’t come easy to this generation). Anything but relief would be selfish and disrespectful.

But walking the grounds it became very clear that my memories many times are connected to a photo. But there are so many other things creating memories, like scents and sounds. Like the sounds of my steps walking in the gravel across the farm, the stable door closing or the train of returning tractors, gearing down before they, one after the other, return home on a late summer’s night. The smells of the residues of degreasers, lubricants and fumes in the many garages where I once ran around for miles and miles.   

    Now these sounds will be with new people, and new children will get their own memories to them. 

The rest of yesterday’s mother’s day was spent with a visit to a restaurant with my boys, a visit that forever will etch to my memory with the fact that I can’t eat clams. I get sick. But the serving of a brownie from my boys briefly made me forget the stomachache and reminded me that I have the best family ever.  

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