Has there ever been a scent that dissolves you into a memory? It’s like, as you are minding your own business, you catch a whiff, and it’s like you are back in that place: the folding chairs in a church basement; or a table of baked goods you couldn’t touch ’til after service. For example, my scent memory was coffee. However, it wasn’t any old coffee. It was a special, smoother-than-usual kind of coffee that my grandma made when I was a kid. Some called it Swedish coffee. Others called it Norwegian coffee. Others simply called it “church coffee,” in reference to the heart of the story. If you are from anywhere near the Midwest, you probably know exactly what I mean.
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