The Smell of Wonder

Theme song: Both Sides, Now

Last week I smelled my childhood's wonder.

I was on my way to the zoo and I was in a bad mood. You see, a close friend had recently let me down and I felt sad, angry and also worried about the financial implications of the let-down.

I know. You'll tell me, "these things happen." They certainly do. And it certainly doesn't mean that when the going gets rough the tough can't catch a little case of the blues.

Anyhoo.

Long ago, before ever I lived on Buchanan Street, I traveled to Buchanan Street Plaza with my parents.

My mother, afraid though she continues to be to travel, loves and loved Japantown and Chinatown and together with my stepfather we visited them both.

Rushing, last week, with my son and my girlfriend, Laura (fresh from zazen at Forest Books), through Buchanan Street Plaza, rushing to the zoo, rushing to drop off a package -- in short, rushing, rushing as I seem so often to do, I smelled: miso soup mixed with fish, noodles and something fried.

A scene of me as a very young girl -- I believe I was wearing a red dress with white flowers -- filled the screen in my head.

Coming from a small town, I had never seen anything so clean and spare -- so mysterious and exotic as that touristy little Japanese restaurant that has probably changed hands 15 times since I was first there.

The smell, too, brought memories of my mother's dissatisfaction. The restaurant was "not right" and now I know why.

And I can catch, too, a whiff of the fear of "not enough money" -- that forms one of my childhood themes -- for what was then, and now, over priced, low quality Japanese food.

Now I know these feelings more consciously -- and therefore more intimately. My current experience of them is the result of seeds then planted and experience-to-be-now-had.

I have become a combination of: some fear of "not enough money," love of Japanese culture, discovering new foods and places, dining out, dashes of wonder, my new friend, nostalgia and, naturally, countless other things still to be experienced and futurely* remembered -- or forgotten.

Then it was magical to walk through the curtains, see the Asian faces and taste hot tea and chicken teriyaki. Then I felt awe and a sense of wonder.

Walking by last week, that Japanese restaurant smell slapped squarely against rushing, disappointment, vague hunger and the knowledge that now I, it's sad to admit, scorn the very restaurant.

Why?

Now I've traveled to Japan, eaten all manner of "fine" sushi and have even passed through an unexpected portal from "fine dining" to "let's make it at home with the children."

Now I am less prone to wonder and more prone to consider, "What gives the child whose hand I hold a sense of wonder?"

Could it be mediocre Japanese restaurants? Probably not. This specific child has lived through periods of weekly sushi -- back when their father and I were somewhat carelessly rich and together or moving towards more fully apart.

Is it this busy city with its tall downtown buildings -- the ones that shook my own little girl self when I first saw them scraping the sky so many years ago?

Maybe that's closer to a little boy's heart

And that thought reminds me that all is not lost. Skyscrapers and the lovely old buildings downtown still impress me. Still cheer me. Still awaken and inspire me.

Conclusion

The past gives birth to the present even as the future rebirths the past.

Although rushing, strung-out scorn could be considered an alarming replacement, it was interesting to smell my sense of wonder last week as I walked by that Japanese restaurant -- as well as irritating to consider how distant memories grow sharp while sometimes words I need right now stay trapped and fuzzy on the tip of my tongue. And also kind of funny to think about the tad-crotchety-but-hopefully-not-strung-out old lady to whom little Ms. Rush is giving birth.

Your Turn

Please share your thoughts about you now vs. then -- or any interesting memories you've had recently.

*Futurely is a word. I know because I invented it.