Though I haven’t smelled it in many years: puke sand. It was (still is, as far as I can tell) a scented sawdust-like material which school custodians had on hand to spread over wherever a kid threw up. It had an extremely distinctive aroma.
Yeah. For me not so much beach tar, although I sure remember handling some. But the drive along PCH from central Newport up to Sunset Beach had a lot of eau de crude in it.
Then you got to the naval munitions dump which was piled high with thousands of leftover WWII antisubmarine net floats when I was a kid. The bridge over the inlet gave you an awesome view of the hundreds of semi-buried bunkers filled with gosh knows now much explosive. Other than mud flats I don’t remember the munitions dump having a distinctive smell. Which is a good thing.
The smell of oil takes me back to mini-arcades in gas stations, which were sometimes in a room that used to be used for oil products (or sometimes doubled as both.) Those are my most nostalgic arcades, since the room was big enough to fit more than the 2 games maximum that most gas stations and big box foyers had*, and they were never as crowded as mall arcades, and they don’t exist any more even compared to other types of arcades.
*Technically, some big box foyers had space for more than 2 games, but if they had more than 2, the rest were crane games in my experience, which I don’t even count as games. I do count some types of redemption games such as skee-ball.
Whoa–I haven’t thought about that stuff in years! Do they still use it? I remember occasionally seeing a heap of it on the floor in a classroom when some poor kid had upchucked. I didn’t know there was a name for it.
Band name, maybe?
That’s not its official name, but my wife, who taught elementary school for 20 years, and who had to use it from time to time, calls it “puke sand.” Apparently, the brand name of the commonly-used stuff is VoBan.
Speaking of which, another smell memory I associate with the beloved country cottage of my childhood is the smell of kerosene lamps. We always had those on hand because power failures were likely when there were thunderstorms. I don’t know how long they lasted but being way out in the country it might have been a while. We had a wood-burning stove and an icebox so it wasn’t much of a hardship as long as we had light.
Whenever I’m at an airport, the smell of jet fuel always reminds me of our old country cottage and the kerosene lamps we always had on hand. I know that today there are all kinds of fancy lamp oils, but back then our kerosene lamps were just practical essentials and Dad always kept a large can of kerosene on hand.
I think I know what it was: She used something called “Loves Baby Soft”, and even had (the cutest) panties that said, “I’m Baby Soft” across the butt. (She was, too.)
Exam time - and the smell of the question papers straight out of the Gestetner machine.
I would guess sweeping compound for a more formal term.
For me, auto exhaust is an ice cream truck, hanging around the back while the guy or gal fished a rocket pop through the little door.
When I was seven years old, we moved to Germany because my father was stationed there as a U.S. Army physician. For the first months we rented a place in a small village where the farmers spread manure on the fields. That distinctive smell brings back memories whenever I have encountered it since.
Re: fresh mown hay YES! I worked on farms putting up hay bales two summer in high school. That is a powerful smell that instantly takes me back to being 14 years old. The hardest manual labor I have ever done.
Growing up the scents of my mom and dad, both deceased. Dad’s Bylcreem and mom’s White Shoulders perfume. Was at a funeral several years ago and in the church I smelled a familiar scent I could not place, finally figured it out, the older lady in front of me was wearing White Shoulders. I still have a partial tube of my dad’s Byrylcreem stashed away, I take a sniff every now and then.
A little dab 'l do ya.
Brylcreem, a little dab’ll do ya,
Brylcreem, you look so debonair,
Brylcreem, the gals’ll all pursue ya,
They’ll love to get their fingers in your hair!
From memory.
What did I have for lunch yesterday? I have no idea.
One is a jingle, expressly designed to lodge itself in your brain.
The other is merely a memory.
When I was a kid, I heard this as, “A yabba dabba do ya”, which made me wonder if Fred and Barney used it.
2-Stroke motorcycle exhaust always takes me back to better days. I can usually identify the brand of oil in the mix by the smell.
Sea & Ski Suntan lotion. I guess a version is still around but as a sunscreen as opposed to suntan product. Every time I catch a whiff I’m transported to summertime in San Diego in the 60s.
When I was about 5, my mother decided to go back to college to get her teaching credential. So for the period between when school let out around 3 p.m. and when my mother got home to collect us around 6 p.m., we were foisted on entrusted to the care of a neighbor, Mrs. Coley.
Mrs. Coley baked bread two to three times a week. There is no scent more enticing to a hungry kid than freshly baked bread. But Mrs. Coley never gave my siblings or me any. She gave it to her own teenage sons, also just home from school, but none for us. It was excruciating.
With the benefit of adult hindsight, I realize that Mrs. Coley was angry and depressed with her situation, and this behavior was a small way of asserting control over something. Still…
To this day when I smell freshly baked bread, I am briefly transported to Mrs. Coley’s unkempt living room with the ironing board permanently set up for business and spiders dying in the bowl of water she left on the floor for her dog (a shivering red chihuahua, name of Rex). This happens often, as I bake all my own bread now.
The delightful difference is, I can now have a slice whenever I want one.
I guess if I make up a jingle about my lunch every day, I’ll be able to remember it. Interesting.