The scent of a Grandmother

When I pull out the drawer of the chest in the front hall I am taken aback by the lovely scent that wafts from within. Coco Mademoiselle? Aqua Di Parma Mirto? Guerlain's Shalimar? No.
Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan? The rather faded scented paper at the bottom of the drawer?

As I wrap my neck or head or shoulders with a scarf and slip my hands into kid gloves and breathe in the scent I am puzzled. I feel cloaked in elegance. Wait, I think, is it my mother's Chanel No. 5? Some of these scarves and the challis shawl were hers... No, it is not from a bottle, or a powder puff or any one of the sachets scattered about. I have determined it is the scent of a life well lived. The scent of a grandmother.

Catching a little whiff now and again, it is my own little secret. (or was until now) It puts a little wiggle in my step knowing how this grandmother smells. Not like apple pie, chicken soup, faded lilacs or moth balls. All grandmotherly time is wonderful and I take great joy in being one. Anticipating grand-baby number two this summer, I am reminded love is limitless, and then I give a little wiggle!