Your Socks Smell like Pork Loin

A gift from Liz:

Being the ideal daughter that I am, this afternoon I went to my folks' house for Father's Day. I grilled a batch of burgers, trying to perfect the recipe I will enter in this summer's Burger Grill Off contest. I'm getting close to Bovine perfection with these meaty morsels and hope to be blogging from Italy in September- where the top five contestants are flown.

While the grill was hot, I went ahead and threw a pork tenderloin on the grate so that I could get a couple of lunches out of it. When I left my parents' house I put the tenderloin and all the vegetables I could take from their garden into the same gift bag that I had brought Dad's shirts and jeans (Father's Day gifts) in. Now that bag reeks of meat. I mean it smells, although delicious, very much like a gift bag ought not to smell. I want to preserve the odor so that I can place my next gift to someone in this same bag. A gift that has nothing to do with meat. This has prompted me to try to think of as many things as I can that ought not to smell like a pork tenderloin. I have concluded that nothing should smell like pork tenderloin except pork, so any gift I place in the bag will do nicely. I am leaning, however, toward a set of sheets.

They say that smell is the sense most directly linked to memory. The smell of green Now and Laters make me think of my 7th grade year where I, industriously, sold candy out of my backpack at an outrageous mark up. My whole book bag smelled like pencil shavings and candy... and dimes, but I think I've imagined what dimes smell like.

I like smell, well some smells, and I love stumbling across a smell that takes me back to my grandmother's house or, just as good, to a trip in the woods. I like the smell of burning logs too, because that makes me think of Christmas- which makes me think of presents- which, from this day forward, will make me think of pork tenderloin.