Sounds and Smells

What a blessing to have a sense of hearing and a sense of smell. Sometimes we don’t appreciate the joy, the happiness and the emotion these senses bring to us. The memories they conjure up for us cannot be overstated. I, like most of us, have favorite sounds and favorite smells.

I like the sound of the basketball swish. I like the sound of the golf ball dropping into the cup.

I like the mournful sound of the music of trumpet player Chris Botti early on a Sunday morning when the house is dark and the Lovely Sharon is asleep in her bed and I am reading in the Bud Cave.

I like the sound of cat purring beseeching me to rub it.

I like the sound of a toddler laughing. We don’t have to teach a child to laugh; there is just something in the human makeup that allows us to appreciate something funny.

I like the sound of a church bell calling the faithful to a Sunday morning service. The church bells at St. John the Baptist in Draper, Utah were made in Belgium. When you are walking into the church when the bells are ringing it makes you want to do good, to be better.

I like the sounds of the Lovely Sharon’s shoes on the oak stairs as she descends to the Bud Cave. She never slowly walks down the stairs. It is always a semi sprint with her heels clapping hard on the hardwood stairs. I know she wants me to do something or to tell me something. It is never a bother or a disruption.

I like the sound of squirrels chattering in our backyard. Of late, they have been loud and never seem to stop. I think it is driving the Lovely Sharon crazy but since I am already crazy, I like it.

I like the smell of hot, fresh bread.

I like the smell of chicken cooking on the grill.

I like the smell of a lawn freshly cut. It reminds me of highs school football.

I like the smell of two-by-four boards as they are cut with a circular saw. It reminds of me of my father who spent his life as a contractor carpenter.

My favorite smell, well that’s easy. My favorite smell is the natural aroma of the Lovely Sharon. The smell of her neck. Not her perfume, just her.