My Own Five Senses

I just started reading my favorite author’s (Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project) new book Life in Five Senses. Maybe you inferred this but it is about the five senses. So I took stock of my own five senses. Here is a semi-entry blog entry about the way the five senses stand out in my life.

Scent: I think the most nostalgia-creating scent is the perfume I have called Beautiful Day, which reminds me of college. My cousin bought it for me and I always spritzed it on before a Gaming Club party. My other cousin made a spray that helps induce sleep in a totally legal organic way. I’d do anything to smell Dave and Debbie’s house again. Or more recently the farm. Every year there is the smell of Cape Cod- the beach but mostly the motel and the indoor pool are intoxicating. Almost as good as my boyfriend. And let’s not forget the smell of Christmas- evergreen, wood stove, gingerbread cookies, eggnog. Yes, smells have mapped my life. I’ve become more accustomed to the scent of marijuana now that it is everywhere. My room smells like “Cozy Cabin”, a diffuser I picked up when I was out with a friend. No flame, no fear of fire. The smell of beer relaxes me especially if it is nonalcoholic. I still find strong spirits like vodka tempting. Smelling them makes me want to take a sip. Food always makes me want to eat. I love herbs. Basil is my favorite but rosemary, thyme, and sage make me want to cultivate a herb garden of my own. Which would probably die in three days.

iPod

Hearing: Every concert is as different as a fingerprint. I would know. I’ve been to enough of them. The last bands I’ve seen were the ultimate fix: Shinedown and Three Days Grace. Can you get much better? When everyone feels that oneness- with themselves, with each other, with God…it is truly an enriching experience. I was raised on music- plunked down at the piano bench at four years old. I’m still banging away today. I love all kinds of music from Oklahoma! to heavy metal to the Game of Thrones theme song. I’m host to many an earworm. At one point, my iPod had over 40,000 songs. But sometimes I feel like listening to white noise. I can almost always fall asleep to a fan. Or the murmurs of my parents. Or my dad’s guitar. Noise has never kept me up (neither has algebra). I’m also sensitive to noise. Sudden noise tends to upset and startle me. Yesterday for example I was at a bar and the guy next to me started swearing loudly. I, kid you not, burst into tears. It’s not the volume, it’s the abruptness. That’s why I like to be forewarned when guns are used at memorial services. I don’t mind neighborhood noise, like lawnmowers. And I can’t write unless I’m listening to something whether that be a podcast or the buzz of a coffee shop.

Sight: My sight is not very good. Damaged by medication and with a stigmatism I have trouble driving, playing piano, identifying people, and reading without glasses which I wear full time. but I’ve seen some amazing things. There’s a park where I went to college. The waterfalls looked so enticing, the water clear revealing a conglomerate of rocks (definitely not safe to jump). I’ve seen St. Anne’s in Quebec and a wall full of crutches of people who were healed by God (I begged God to heal my OCD but I guess it wasn’t that time). I’ve seen Gaudi’s work in Spain- the Sagrada Familia (which looks like a melting birthday cake) and the famous Gaudi Park which he had originally designed to be a self-sufficient community. I saw my reflection on prom night. The prettiest I ever looked with a twisted updo hairstyle and long clinging mermaid dress. I felt more glamorous than Audrey Hepburn. I saw the gorgeous sunsets of Sanibel where pink cotton candy clouds glowed over the crest of the warm Florida water. Every day on my way to and from classes, I blinked in the beauty of my college campus- the expanse of green on which we played frisbee, the Rose Garden where I posed with my dad on parent’s weekend, the gathering of picnic tables outside the freshmen dorms from which marijuana wafted up to my third-floor dorm room. I thought it was the most beautiful place on Earth. And my own house, the sunlight kitchen, skylights, and generous windows. Always greeting me, the cheery sight of home.

Taste: At this point, I am a size I do not want to be and that is the result of loving food too much. In fact, I feel like this sense might be too vast for me. Let’s start with Japanese cuisine. From the saltiness of the miso soup to the ginger dressing on the house salad to the buckwheat soba noodles darkened with soy sauce to the brilliant pink of the fresh salmon sushi. All followed by fried ice cream for dessert- ice cream nestled between fried dough with a crown of whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and sprinkles which reminds me of the cupcake pancakes from IHOP. Breakfast. The grease of tater tots at my friend’s gig the other night was had so hot they burned my mouth like I had applied a small iron to the roof of my mouth. The butter on the popcorn when I went to the movies. The cinnamon and sugar in the pretzel bites I enjoyed while walking around the mall. And every morning the same smoothness of butter on toast, the sourness of my daily pickle, my regret as I realized I had put too much salt on my eggs yet again. This year my boyfriend took me to the perfect Valentine’s Day dinner. For appetizers mouth-watering potato croquettes and for my entrée the pesto was perfect (though perhaps not as good as my mother’s). On our first date, I ordered the deep dish pizza with dough as soft as my pillow. My boyfriend drove me home the other night, my fingers orange from snacking on Cheddar Chex Mix, thirst quenched with Monster. Oh and let’s not forget the time I ate a cheddar flavored cricket with my youth group. I got the legs stuck in my braces. I’ll leave you with that image.

Touch: When I was little or now when I have a headache my mom would run her fingers over my skin or rub my temples. We call this “making nice”. Nothing is as soothing as my mother’s touch. When I was in the hospital she would visit and hold me and I would cry in my room when she left. Small things like hand-holding and lap-sitting became different with the onset of puberty. And I love the occasional massage- so much that I tend to fall asleep during the second half. The relaxation is intoxicating. It is something everyone should try just once. I look forward to trying acupuncture as well. In Intensive Day Therapy, I made my very own stress ball from two balloons and flour. I love squeezing it in moments of panic. Similarly, my parents gave me a small stone for Christmas that reads “Hope” I hold it in my hand and its smoothness helps me to calm down like a soothing bubble bath. I like hot things when I’m in pain like a heating pad for chronic cramping. But what I love most is fluff. Fluffy socks, fluffy sweats, fluffy robes, fluffy Pooh Bears. Running my hand along it and being rewarded with that faux fur feeling. It’s so soothing. And sleep inducing and cozy. As a reformed cutter, sharp objects hold a different meaning for me. I used to engage in self-injurious behavior and this would flood my body with a feel-good hormone I got addicted to. I started at 13 and ended at 21. And as Fleetwood Mac would say “Never going back again”