Right now I cannot stop from covering my nose with my hand and taking a deep whiff kind of like a sad imitation of Mary Katherine Gallagher after she pulls her hands from her armpits.  I’ve been organizing some of my things that have been cluttering up my closet floor due to the lack of storage in the new bathroom/closet area. I’ve put it off for a couple months and today I finally got sick of crushing items each time I pick my wardrobe. While milling through these things and relocating them to their new homes, I made a pleasant discovery: my perfume collection.

I am a slave to scent. It’s the true reason I save these bottles, as each one holds a secret memory. Mostly they are memories I will never share, not because they are top secret, but they would never mean as much to someone else. Some ladies have a perfume bottle collection and I used to do that, but I find it much more intoxicating to take a whiff of the actual scent than the empty half scent left in a bottle. Each one brings a flood of thoughts and memories to mind.

The oldest one in my collection is Youth-Dew by Estee Lauder. Not a fancy bottle by far, it is small with a light jade, rectangle shaped, plastic lid that has little specks of make up and other bits that were possibly from the bottom of a makeup bag smattered all about. Since it bears the words Not For Individual Sale stamped on the bottom I assume I procured this one from a sample set. But I don’t care a bit what it looks like; the amazing powers of the fragrance are what I covet. When I take off the plastic lid, the sprayer is old and stained brown probably from being thrown carelessly in the bottom of boxes and drawers of the previous owners and mine for years or maybe decades. This is my Nana’s perfume. What an incredible woman!

I do not mean that as a compliment as most would infer, because she was a bit of a lunatic. She loved me though, and I loved her. She was a large, beautiful blonde Scottish woman who loved to dress stylish and wear big jewelry. She traveled the world and had a collection of lovers and amazing stories. Nana was fabulously interesting to anyone who met her, but things usually turned bad due to her psychotic need to stir up drama.  I try not to think about her dark side when I inhale the scent or the fact that this neurosis is one I have flowing through my bloodstream. Instead I remember days of getting up early and climbing into her bed to whisper stories to each other until everyone else woke up. My parents always told me not to wake her when she would visit, but she never minded me crawling into her sheets before the sun was even up.

When we were staying at her home in Scotland with Mom during my parents divorce she would have me help her polish her silverware and her copper knick-knacks (I loved the smell of that cleaning solution as well). We would spend hours going through her massive collection of jewelry. It was mostly costume quality, but I was always intrigued by the stories of how she acquired them. She wore a bracelet with the most interesting charms you have ever seen. None of them were ordinary. I remember the tiny golden detailed globe of the world that could be unclasped and it would roll out into a cross. That was my favorite. She started a bracelet for me, but I was too young to wear it. Each time she got a new charm, she would take an older one off and put it on my bracelet in her jewelry box. I was 8 months pregnant when my Nana died, so I could not attend the funeral overseas. My Mother who had disowned her Mother (with good reason) signed away the executer rights to a family friend, David Rafferty, who made promises to send me some of Nana’s things but never did.

I have none of my Nana’s things, but I have this perfume bottle to remind me of her. It is worth nothing to anyone but me. I can’t remember where it came from, but it must have come from her. Everything she owned smelled like this: the clothes she wore, her jewelry box and even the warm sheets of her bed early in the morning.

The largest bottle I keep is Cinnabar by Estee Lauder. My Mother’s perfume. Mom and I have a complicated relationship. Actually we have had no relationship for over five years as she has little interest in being a mother and even less in being a grandmother. I have some fault in there too, but given her life choices while raising me (and my brother) it’s hard to see my own damage beyond my damn incessant judging.  Those aren’t the thoughts that come to mind when I inhale her scent though, I love that perfume! My favorite memories of Mom are after I would go an extended time without seeing her; maybe a few weeks during summer vacation when I was young or even longer as an adult. When I had not seen her in some time, she always seemed like she missed me. That is when I could feel her love the most. As I stepped out of a car or in through a doorway, she would charge and embrace me in a way that only my mother ever has. It was a long tight squeeze that would shove my face into some soft motherly area that smelled like my Mom. There are times in my life when I really miss her like when my second son was born. I was so proud of what I had accomplished and I really wanted my Mom there with me. Sometimes you have to accept that “it is what it is” and still enjoy your life despite the things it lacks.

The other bottles from my collection remind me of my own life. Even though I pretty much wear the same (Rapture by Victoria Secret) perfume that I originally began wearing almost 20 years ago, I have had scent phases. The oldest of these bottles, from my teen years, is a cheap white bottle with a black lid shaped to match it’s name, Exclamation by Coty. I don’t even know if they make it anymore, but it reminds me of making out with that boy whose name I can’t even remember, during my summer at Aunt Cheryl’s. It also reminds me of living in apartments with my Dad. In-between his unbearable moments of controlling and punishing while trying to learn how to be a single parent, we had some great times. That is one person I never doubted loved me. Ever. He can push me absolutely over the edge of insanity with his beliefs that I don’t usually agree with, but I love him so much. He is a good man who loves his family for better or worse. I’m lucky to know him.

Most of the other bottles are just phases of my life. Highlights include the Sunflower (by Clinique) phase from when I lived in Lubbock for college through my early 20s and actually collected sunflowers. Collections are a horrible thing. I had curtains and blankets and figurines. My poor boyfriend (eventually first husband) had to endure this phase by sticking as many manly broken computer parts and bicycles throughout our duplex to ensure that it was in fact his domain as well.

Another phase was Happy (by Clinique), which was mostly true. I got married to my first husband and had my first child during this phase. It reminds me of nursing my first child in the giant red recliner in the bedroom of the first house I ever owned. I had a great time planting that beautiful flower garden with my previous mother-in-law.  It reminds me of my sweet dog Sadie who was with me for 12 years. I remember spending quality time  there with my best friends Carra and Jason watching must see TV at my house and bonding over food and adventures. We are all far away from each other now and rarely see one another. I miss them.

Sadly the “Happy” phase also reminds me of divorce. Which no matter how called for and amicable it might be, is still hard. It reminds me of my brief stint as a single mother and how my good friend Jesica helped me through it. She would show up on early Saturday mornings to escape with my toddler for hours at a time and on weeknights to watch TV with me and keep the lonely nights full.

Those memories are all far away, but just one whiff and I am thrusted back in an instant. I am currently in a Heavenly (by Victoria’s Secret) phase, which is quite fitting. My husband bought me this perfume in Las Vegas a few years back. One day I will add this bottle to the collection and I will remember these days of our new home and our Wednesday family nights and our wonderful fireplace. At least I hope I do.

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I may dig up some old pics to add to this later in the week.