Perfume

This is the third time I've started this particular episode. I had to completely shut down my computer in order to get into Blogspot. Don't know what was wrong. Anyway, I had written a nice, chatty, opening paragraph about odors and aromas and how they bring back memories -- or so I've heard..

This is a picture of my mom and dad, me and my sister (in my mom's arms). I can tell it's not a Sunday because mom is wearing socks, not stockings. She'd never wear socks to church!

I remember the smell of an incoming thunderstorm. I supposed it was because Runnemede is down wind from the Delaware River, and the odor of the river was prominent at times just before a storm broke out. Even if the weather forecast didn't call for storms, we knew one was coming anyway.

Even now if I go into a damp basement, it reminds me of the cellar at home -- the cellar at home was where mom did the laundry and hung it to dry on wintry days or if it was raining outside. We didn't get a dryer until I was a teenager. If I smell someone smoking, it reminds me of my Uncle Joe (Sbaraglia) because he was our only family member that smoked. If I go into an Italian deli, the smell reminds me of Vince's Deli that was on Clements Bridge Road in Runnemede. See where I'm going with this? No, well, read on.

My mom wore perfume. The smell always gave me a headache. Now, she didn't wear perfume all the time, only when she was going to church, or going to visit someone, or going into Philadelphia with me. How do you tell your mother than her perfume makes you sick? I think the brand she wore was To a Wild Rose, or something like that. Dad gave her some other kinds of perfumes, but she always wore the rose scent. It didn't smell much like roses to me, though.

Anyway, whenever we would go into Philadelphia, we had to take the bus, because as I mentioned before my father wouldn't own a car (he thought they were murder weapons). So, she and I would get on the bus, she with her perfume freshly adorning her wrists and neck, and I without perfume, just knowing I was going to be sick or get a headache. If I could just get into Philly without getting sick or getting a headache, I'd have a great time.

Our first stop (assuming I wasn't sick) was always Woolworth's lunch stand. We got hot dogs. Mom always got buttermilk. Yucky stuff. She got me an orange ade. I would have preferred a coke, but for some reason soda was not permitted in my early days. Anyway, we would sit at the counter and munch on our hot dogs and she'd drink her buttermilk. One time I asked if I could taste it. One taste, and that soured me on buttermilk for the rest of my life. It's okay to add to recipes that call for it because you can't taste it, but to drink the stuff? No way! I'll stick to orange ade, thank you very much.

After we ate our meal we would browse through Woolworth's. She loved to go to the flower department -- they had live plants in Woolworth's at that time. I liked to visit the paper-doll section.

Don't misunderstand -- we always had a purpose to go into Philly -- and it was not to get hot dogs and buttermilk at Woolworth's. Usually, it was to go to Pinebrook Book Store to get something for church, like a new song book that had just been published, or a new flannel graph lesson. Or, it was to get me or my siblings new clothes, but since I was the oldest, I had the honor of accompanying mom while the other three stayed home with dad. Some times we'd have to go visit Dr. Feldman (dad's favorite chiropractor)--his office was in a building with a man-operated elevator, at 15th and Chestnut Street.

Dr. Feldman would come to visit us once in a while, just because he and dad were friends, I suppose. He gave my father a large painting of a river scene -- which my daughter Becky now owns -- and which we loved to look at. And if we were looking at it and dad saw us, he would always ask if we saw the cow hiding behind the tree. There was NO cow hiding behind any tree in that picture, but dad was a tease. Let me get back on track.

After we picked up whatever we went to Philly to get, we'd head over to a candy store on Chestnut street -- I can't remember the name of it, but mom always bought us some fudge. Us, meaning my father. She would share one piece with me, the rest was put in a box for dad. He liked vanilla fudge. Those were the days when there were three flavors -- vanilla, chocolate, and peanut butter.

Then we'd head back to Market Street, down near Wanamaker's (13th & Market) and get on a bus and head home again. By this time the perfume had worn off and I didn't have to worry about getting sick or getting a headache.

Believe it or not, I still have a bottle of that stuff, and it still stinks!