I had a deeply frustrating day at work yesterday. No matter how I try to help and explain things, my users seemed determined to go some other – strange and wrong – direction. I kept finding myself opening the cabinet in my office to stare longingly at the vampire stake I keep there for emergencies. You can never be too careful.
Fortunately, I needed to head across campus on an errand and knew the walk would do me good. I was walking past my building when I noticed irises growing in a small flower garden.
I stopped, leaned over, and breathed deeply.
Suddenly, the smell of the flowers triggered an intense memory. In my head, with perfect holographic clarity, I was back at my great-grandmother’s little house in Mackinaw, Illinois. She was proud of her garden and spent a lot of time growing the most beautiful and fragrant flowers in town. Every detail from what would have been over 30 years ago and two states away was suddenly as vivid as if I’d been back there at that time and at the place.
It was gone in another instant.
It’s been said that smell is the most powerful evoker of memories, but I guess I hadn’t had one hit me so strongly before. I was there – as surely as I’m now sitting at my desk typing at my computer.
I stood back up and headed on my way.
The quality of my interactions with humans didn’t get any better, but things were a little sunnier in my head for the rest of the day.