1999 january 27

the sweet smells

i was doing laundry last night and the smell of the slightly damp lint in the dryer took me right back to my grandmother's cellar in germany. my grandmother lives in a smallish two story stone house. for years she had no refrigerator, preferring instead to store the milk and butter, cheese and processed meats in enamel pots she kept in a dark closet in her cellar.

the cellar was also home to another giant closet with a heavy metal door that was full of coal for the furnace, a caged off larder area full of shelves and canned fruits, and the washing machine and clotheslines. i loved the exoticness of that cellar, at least it was exotic to me as a child. the stairs leading down to it were narrow and steep, made of stone and then painted in a gloss white paint. they were slippery as hell and necessitated i creep down them, slowly and carefully. it only added to the mysterious allure.

whenever i was sent for the butter, i would take as long as possible, pressing my face between the wooden planks that separated the larder from the rest of the cellar, trying to differentiate between the mirabellas and the dark cherries, wondering how long they had been there and if there were enough to last until the end of the world. then a tug on the metal door, hoping it would be open so i could touch the coal, and maybe steal a tiny piece to keep in my pocket. a quick dash to look at the alien washing machine with its ability to boil the clothes, making the whites whiter than white, and smell the detergent: persil. i still love the smell of persil.

there was one additional part to the cellar, a closed off room that i never saw open. it had a heavy wooden door with a giant bolt that slid into one of the stone walls and was padlocked in place. i used to scare myself silly by imagining there were skeletons locked in there and was rather disappointed to find it was just old furniture and cardboard boxes.

she finally bought a tiny refrigerator a few years ago but still keeps the pickles and vegetables down there. good thing as otherwise i would have to fabricate reasons to go down there and smell the sweet smells of my childhood.

thinking she'll go run the dryer for a few minutes, claire