My first thought when I saw the word Aromatic was a dirty joke I heard about thirty years ago, but it’s something not many people outside Australia would understand, and it’s damn filthy, so I decided I best tone it down.
So when it comes to aromas here is a career of aromas. When I was twelve the aroma was burning leaves, the specific kind that got wrapped in small paper tubes. By sixteen that aroma was still burning leaves but it was a different kind of leaves as we tried to live the rockstar life, (without the hit song, the groupies and the money). Those aromas pretty much stayed with me for ten years with the additional aroma of beer and bourbon/whiskey (we weren’t fussy).
When I finally got sick of the stench of snobbery and moved back from Sydney to my home town a new aroma took over. (I could be mushy and say the aroma of love and the fact I wont doesn’t mean it’s not true 😛 ). The new aroma was the smell of baked bread.
The smell of the bakery I worked for was a bit different to the smell of the bakery dad’s mate worked for which was just down the road. His bakery baked large wooden boxes in a furnace of over 700 degrees, the kind of boxes people paid a fortune for only burn up without knowing it. (Bakery obviously wasn’t the official term for this place of work that started with ‘C’ but that’s what he called it.)
Many people claim the smell of cooked bread is wonderful, great, and a million other good words, but if you spend too long around a bakery that produces more than 50 varieties of bread based products and can produce more than 24,000 units every hour of the day you get sick of it. Added to that the smell that, in the cold of winter especially, hangs around in the back of the truck all morning and bombards you every time you open the back doors. Even after giving up the job the stink of baked bread annoys me as I smell it walking around the supermarket.
Although the smell of baked bread was never forgotten if was eventually replaced by the stench of bullshit as insurance companies and an arsehole boss fought over who wouldn’t pay my medical bills. For eighteen months I was in limbo, injured and unable to work and unable to get surgery because of the bullshit these idiots created. That stench of bullshit provided the aroma to my spiralling downfall, a downfall that for quite a few years I couldn’t control.
In saying that it does give the wrong impression that the downfall was not all bad, it wasn’t during that time both our daughters were born, something that I wouldn’t change for anything in the world, but there is no doubt as a family person my life, and theirs suffered.
By the time Miss 4 was born the bullshit of insurance and bad bosses was replaced with the smell of real bullshit, and cow shit as we started working on the farm. As much as the stink of manure is off putting to some, I tell you it’s still better than the bullshit that was stinging my nose for the years prior to that.
Now days the bullshit I create is my own, bread and bakeries still annoy me and I kill people I don’t like in stories. What a happy ending. 🙂