A bad smell triggers good memories

The smell of cooking fish was far less pleasant than the fish chowder had been. I reached for my incense holder, a small white ceramic fish that holds both stick and cone incense. It had been a gift from a couple who visited me this summer, the son and daughter-in-law of a friend who had died.

Despite the cold I remember the pleasure of sitting in a sun-drenched café with them talking while eating fish in a restaurant near a château that had existed since in some form since Roman days, sharing ideas and hopes.

I remember the man sketching out a garden design for his wife in another restaurant in the mountains, and she approving it.

I remember the writer Lauren Davis giving me incense when she and her husband stayed with me, saying "you can't have too much stinky stuff." Stinky was definitely a positive in her usage.

The smell of violets replaced the smell of fish. The memories do not need replacement. You can't have too much stinky stuff, or too many good memories either.