For me - - - Lilacs Connect to the Past

A few days ago on a dark, cloudy morning as I walked in the rain, I met (at nose-level) a fragrant, light-purple blossom. It was so weighed down by water that had settled on the grape-shaped flower it caused the whole branch to lean unnaturally across the sidewalk. I knew if I touched it I would get a head full of rain like I’d turned on a sprinkler.

Instead, I leaned forward and gently touched the bloom to lift it to my nose. I sucked in the rich, sweet smell and could almost taste the fragrance.

I wasn’t sure why I immediately closed my eyes until I saw a screen of memories gently pass behind my eyelids. Smell connected to all my other brain senses and insisted I fully pull in its power.

The first rush of memory was me with my head back so I l could look up at huge, gnarly lilac trees covered in soft-violet shades of color. They surrounded my childhood home with a burst of color. I saw the old rickety, back shed, door wide open with the screen already serving its purpose to air out the Michigan basement weary of being closed up all winter. 

The sag of the small, old garage next to my home had shingles overdo to be replaced. Up against it sat a large sandbox made out of wood slats with little seats at the four corners—-badly in need of a new haul of fresh sand from the dunes.

The clothes lines were full with laundered clothes clipped with wooden clothespins. I hear their all too familiar sound of flap, snap, flap in the wind.

Neighborhood sounds muffled in my memory felt comforting.

Then I was on my walk home from school. I saw purple in the distance. I was so proud! No other home I knew of had the grandeur of these towering living plants. We may not have had much in other ways but every spring our display of full beauty couldn’t be beat.

The trees canopied our front and back yards. They shaded over me, as tall as our house. I climbed them scratching my legs and arms. A happy memory flooded. The freedom this gave me to escape from the reality of ground-level life was priceless. 

No brothers, cousins, sisters, parents or neighborhood kids could see me when I climbed as far as I could go, blanketed with leaves and flowers. Their large, arm-like branches made it easy to go up. The bark was mostly stringy and smooth. New shoots reached upwards everywhere and gave places for my feet to grip. (Especially on the descent, it was more feel than sight)

Me in the midst of a bouquet of flowers almost seems like an Alice in Wonderland scene. It was no fantasy. As much as I loved it then I now realize only a child could immerse themselves into a bouquet and not try to describe or label the experience or think of time.

I lived it and know I didn’t dismiss it then as everyday. I was fully aware of how these generous flowers were temporary. Fleeting. I grew up with the knowledge they wouldn’t last long. They are fragrant and gorgeous…soon to brown and act like they’d never been there at all. 

I tried to surprise Mom with a bouquet of them. She always acted surprised. They are quick to wilt indoors too. My idea of a bouquet was pretty limited I’m sure. Dad cut them from high up with a long tool that snipped branches and the flowers he got made a fuller bouquet.

I’ve always been a lover of lilacs. I would love to have a chance to be fully in a bouquet again. There are only a couple of those lilac trees left where they stood so majestically next to my childhood home. But, the memories are vivid, especially with the help of my nose connected to memory. 

Life is a moment. Soon to be a memory. A blossom to assail our senses and disappear. 

We have power to choose moments. To clamp in our senses and put them in memory like a

coin in a piggy bank.