Flexing Your Nose

The Nobel prize for medicine went to big, sweaty researchers who pinpointed the genes that give us our sense of smell. They did the initial research 15 years ago. It was a mystery prior to their efforts, according to the press release. I'm surprised scientists didn't go for it earlier. "What's that smell?" That wasn't heard in a laboratory before 1991?

Perhaps aromas need more publicity. People who lose their sense of smell don't have charity telethons. In some cases they profit anyway. My daughter's pediatrician has a limited nose. I took her in for a small matter and became embarrassed when I thought I detected a dirty diaper. He assured me it was no big deal and told me about his nose. A pediatrician who can't smell caca. What a blessing for him.

The researchers were right. Memories associated with a scent are profound. I remember the perfume my kindergarten teacher wore in the fall of 1970. I can't describe it here but I'll know it when I smell it again. I have visual and aural memories of Mrs. Bates, but the nose - it's locked in and not available by other means. If I knew the name of the perfume, I'd go to the source and conjure her memory on demand.

In the late 1970s at Camp Zoe, Round Spring, Missouri, fragrances and smells were in abundance at the tennis court dances. During the slow numbers like Bread's "Diary" I embraced my camp crush in a long, slow turn. A scent crystallized the moment. One whiff of "Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific" today and I'm back on the concrete court in my terry-cloth shirt with my arms around a halter-topped girl swaying to the falsetto lyrics of K.C. and the Sunshine Band's "Please Don't Go".

I returned to Camp Zoe six weeks ago for an alumni weekend. I stopped at the Kroger in Rolla, Missouri and bought Revlon Flex shampoo and conditioner. I hit the fragrance like a snuff fiend, carefully removing the cap to allow the vanilla fragrance to reach my nostrils. It kept me in the moment. Our weekend was flooded with all kinds of memories. We were rewarded with the familiar sound of creek water trickling past our campfire. We touched the rough, aged wood of the monolithic barn. The Flex conditioner fragrance triggered additional memories. It didn't produce any revelations but the scent surrounded me like a comfortable blanket throughout my stay.

That's the reason they handed out an award to sweaty guys in lab coats who smell like old carpet, or Brut aftershave, or a disturbing mix of both. Our memory is a time machine and we travel back, aided by aromas. I'm glad for the scientists who won the Nobel prize. Quantifying the ability to move through time is no small feat. Remember that the next time you're in the shampoo section at the grocery store.