After dinner, a new friend and I drove up Weber Canyon Road on our way to visit some good and friendly people. As we made our way up their front walk, the sweet smell of Springtime in the Kamas Valley replaced that of cooking lasagna as number one on my list of favorite smells. Fresh grass, a hint of snow, and just a pinch of fresh manure, mixed and blown by a slight breeze; you wouldn't think it the perfect combination, but it evokes some of my more happy childhood memories while holding great promise for the future at the same time. I love that smell, and I wrote about "that sweet Oakley air" last summer.
We entered the house of those good people, and after a few minutes into our visit, the delightful aroma of a cake baking filled the room in which we sat. I was enchanted at once, and the smell kicked that of the sweet Oakley air from the top slot on my list of favorite smells. Were it not for comfortable conversation with such wonderful people, I might have been driven mad by my desire to eat the source of such a heavenly scent.
And the topic of conversation that held my animalistic cravings at bay? Judging others.
Judging others is something with which I have a lot of experience. I have spent a fair amount of my life sitting in judgement of others, while at the same time ignoring not only my own weaknesses and faults, but the good in those that I have judged. Even people that I love have not been spared. Anyone who reads West Of Independence through to the end will understand what I mean.
It isn't something that I am proud of, but it is something that I can change, and so I wrote a book and moved to Oakley.
Tonight Elizabeth and I climbed into our bed to watch a British mystery. The kids wandered in and out of our room over the next hour. Each one of them has a distinct smell, and when caught up in my nose, each one of their distinct smells sit atop my list of favorite smells. But after they had all retreated to bed for the night, I caught a whiff of Elizabeth's skin as she turned over to go to sleep.