At work today, we had to cut out some tree roots that had grown into a wall we were repairing. It was weird to smell the dust that was produced; I've grown so used to the saw slicing into such things as mortar or brick that the sweet, wooden scent caught me completely off. Also, the dust was fine and organic, rather than heavy and grimy. It was just radically different.
The last time I smelled wood like that was back in middle school, at Camp Palomar. A certain mutual friend of ours may have had a terrible time at that camp, but I actually liked the experience overall. I liked the woodcrafting activities, at the least, and that dust brought back memories like sanding down a random chunk of wood into modern art. I remember that I lost that wood. As a replacement, I was given a wooden button with my name engraved on it. I think I lost that too.
It's just absurd to me that I can so potently remember a nice time that didn't include you and... actually enjoy the memory. One of the hardest things for me to enjoy now are memories without you, but somehow that one made it through. I guess it was the strong scent trigger? I'm not going to start snorting wood dust to be happy, though. I'll just be satisfied that I was happy at the time. Besides, we have more roots to cut.
I wonder what happy memories you cherish from before you met me?
