Outings with Mom

I took the twins to Wegmans today. The foyer of the store is filled with spring flowers: tulips, daffodils, hyacinths, pansies. They stand there in their little pots of earth, as colorful as a child's paint set. The smell of them, especially the hyacinths, is bewitching. No matter that outside it is cold and dreary: here in Wegmans it smells like spring.

The prompt for this month's On Display project is "I've always loved the smell of...." It would be true enough for me to write that I have always loved the scent of hyacinths, lilacs, lilies-of-the-valley and the other flowers of spring; but instead I feel inspired to write about the first smell I remember enjoying, the smell of gasoline.

I remember visiting the gas station in our family car, a white Falcon station wagon, when I was a young child. Gas pumps must have been leakier back in those days because it seems to me that the gas stations then always reeked of the stuff. My sister and I used to love to sniff the fumes though my mother warned us it would make us sick. There was one gas station where the attendants would give each of us kids a pretzel rod whenever my parents bought gas there. I can remember sitting in the back of the station wagon, eating the pretzel and smelling the gas fumes.

We spent a lot of time in the car in those days. My mother stayed home with us kids; to keep herself sane, I suppose, she often would take us on outings. Cadwalader Park was a favorite destination. The park was designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, who also designed Central Park in New York City. Like that famous landmark, Cadwalader Park was a green island in the midst of the city, a rambling, tree-filled oasis. We'd stop at the animal enclosure to feed crabapples and stale bread to the herd of deer. Then Mom would take us to the tiny amusement area where we'd have a spin on the merry-go-round and the little fire engine ride.

Sometimes Mom would take us to the state museum. I loved the big dinosaur skeletons and fossil footprints, the mannequin display of Leni Lenape Indians, and the display of phosphorescent rocks. Other times, she would take us to the library to stock up on books. Even a trip to the supermarket was an enjoyable variation from our daily routine.

Today I am the one driving the car, taking the boys to Wegmans, to the library, to the playground, to a park (though, sadly, not to Cadwalader Park as it has become a haven for drug dealers). I wonder if they will remember those outings as fondly as I do those from my childhood and whether the smell of gasoline will remind them of those trips.

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