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Abigail Jones

English 10 H

Gardner

23 January 2017

Pacifica Perfume

I inhaled softly, taking in the smell of my grandmas Pacifica perfume in the discontinued

scent of Dusty Rose. I sat on her bed and traced the stitching in her quilt with my finger, waiting

to go eat my lunch of half a peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich. Lunch time, my

grandpa declared. My four-year-old blonde curls bounced as I joyfully hopped off of the bed

and strolled into the kitchen. Years later, while browsing in a Macys, I smelt roses. I smelt

childhood, and peanut butter, and my grandparents laundry detergent. I felt the seams in the

quilt and my blonde curly hair that has long since been straightened. I saw the pale yellow

flooring of my grandparent's kitchen and heard the distant sound of a Scooby Doo tape playing

from a television far away. I was transported back in time, nostalgia formed in the pit of my

stomach and in the ache in my heart. The nose, or your sense of smell, is the only of your five

senses directly related to memory. Your sense of smell is directly associated with hippocampus,

or according to Google, the elongated ridges on the floor of each lateral ventricle of the brain,

thought to be the center of emotion, memory, and the autonomic nervous system. Your nose is

a partial key in your identity. It showcases your ethnicity, brings forward lost memories, allows

you to taste, and evokes hidden emotions.

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A nose stores your personal identity. It compiles the information that separates you from

the general population, the information that shapes your personality and carves your future. This

metaphorical lock-box takes a variety of shapes upon ones face, some small, some large, some

button-like, and others hooked.

Though I somehow dodged the dreaded bird beak that runs so commonly in my moms

side of the family, I still live amongst its ideals. We refer to this nose as the Braga nose (Braga

being my mothers maiden name). The Braga nose that so many of my relatives carry has been

passed down from Garzeno, Italy, a small, rural town in the northern part of the country. This

prominent feature correlates with the booming joyful voices heard around a dinner table and the

strong-headed tendencies bound deep in the fabrics of my family. It corresponds with the taste of

savory, pillowy gnocchi, only creatable by my great grandmother. The Braga nose is more than a

extruding facial feature, it stores memories and habits. It locks away strength, perseverance, and

wit, but most importantly, it a safe, containing our identities and carrying on sacred traditions.

More recently, noses are now becoming changeable and customizable. Whether theyre

surgically altered, pierced, freckled or even tattooed, they continue to make a statement. They are

the center of ones face, the first element many people see when initially meeting someone. They

shape your face and make up the foundation of a first impression. As much as noses shape your

face, they also shape your personality. Through sense of smell, nones enable us to unlock lost

memories, a current day reminder of our past selves. Your personal memory bank is what defines

you and initiates growth. Noses are not only are a part of your ethnicity and traditions, but a

piece of your ever-evolving character.

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Whether you like your nose or not, it will always bring one of the many joys of life, food.

According to BioMed Central, between 75 and 95% of taste is constructed by smell.

My mom has always been aware of the importance of tradition and food, two main

staples in our lives, and after an estimated 20 years of convincing, (or what may even be

considered harassment by some), she finally convinced my grandfather to teach us how to make

sausage. Pick a date and well make some, he stated sternly, even though his subtle joy

overshined his outer bitterness. Now, this is not just any sausage, either. This recipe has been in

my family for generations and is no way comparable to any kind available in stores. We carried

the ingredients down the steps into the cold, musty basement of my great grandmas old ranch

house, located in Valley Ford. It smelt of dust and hay. It was frigid and dirty, but in the

strangest way comforting. The smell of rusted antiques and the cold basement floors brought me

back to childhood where my cousin Gianna and I would warily venture to Grandma Bragas

haunted basement, flashlights in hand, to tell ghost stories. This was the house in which my

moms side had lived in since coming to this country, it meant something special and unique to

all of us. We placed an array of fragrant spices and herbs (salt, pepper, cinnamon, cloves, garlic

and allspice to name a few) along an old wooden table, and got to work. The scents of the

seasonings along with the garlic and red wine mixture we added were rich and decadent. This

was more than cooking, this was learning an art that had passed down in my family for

generations. After we mixed, grinded, and stuffed, my grandma taught me how to tie the

sausages off: Her hands, wrinkled, littered with sunspots, and of course, perfectly manicured,

working next to my youthful ones. Around, then make a loop, then through and pull tight, she

said patiently, waiting for me to catch up.

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Once finished, I wandered, aimlessly looking at the collection of antique furniture, books

and artwork stored in the basement. I came across a box containing past recipes, most dating

back to far before I was born. The paper of the index cards were soft with wear, the red lines

barely visible, and the ink faded. This was family history. Especially in Italian culture, food and

family are linked, woven into a single ideal. They go side by side, and learning such a

time-honored tradition enlightened me to this rich section of my family. Food plays a crucial role

in both the past and present of all of our lives. The food we ate as children will forever be kept in

our personal vaults. Still, whenever I smell peanut butter and bananas, the safe is cracked and I

am taken back to childhood, and innocence, and simplicity.

Because your sense of smell is directly related to your memories, it acts as an

all-inclusive safe, protecting both your most cherished memories, and your distant ones. It locks

up your ethnicity and sometimes uses a Braga Beak to display it to the world. A memory can be

awakened from deep within the chambers of ones brain just from the scent of a childhood meal,

or the smell of a grandmothers perfume. Each one of us has varying safes, some big, some

small, but it is what is within our memory storages define us. Our past memories, some only

reachable through a smell, are what shape us.