There's something about the smell associated with where you're from.
One big gulp of that magical air and a feeling wells inside you.
A feeling wonderful and a bit uncomfortable,
but only because this air isn't what you're used to anymore.
For Example: I was in Oregon for 3 months. Breathing Oregon air, exhaling Oregon air, eating Oregon air, smelling Oregon air....(you get the picture). I was "CHEATING" on my Wisconsin air....if you will. Making new memories with new people in new places all amongst Oregon air. As soon as I stepped out of the car and onto my driveway in my little home town, that first breath was familiar yet new.
It's not until the 9th or 10th huge wiff (nearly on the verge of hyperventilation) that that uncomfortable piece of the afore mentioned feeling dissipates.
The crisp winter air is my favorite...but this time it was a smell that brought back the memory of those long summer days that bled into the short summer nights right before senior year. Three of us out of our little high school clique lived in Parkview Medows... and we referred as our little area as 'our hood'...not to be taken literally...the nickname was more of a reference name than it was a description. Anyway, I can recall days where we would stand in the street and toss a 175 Diskcraft Ultra-Star until our hands were red. Cars would come by every once in a while, and when they did someone would yell, "CAR!" Some would walk to the left boulevard and some to the right, and we'd all watch as the car would slow way down, almost to a stop (as if there were thousands of little 4 year old children in the street)... It ate at me a little...and I remember mumbling to myself (on more than one occasion) "come onnnnnnnn letsss gooooooooo."
We were obviously WATCHING the car...I mean...it was the only thing standing between us and fun. They would stare right back at us... stop at the corner stop sign and drive away. We were always quick to return to the street and our play was resumed.
We played Frisbee like it was our job that summer. We would walk to the soccer fields, play until we were cranky, argue about plays, and eventually someone would call it quits (usually out of anger or frustration)...and everyone else would follow. We would walk back and as it got dark, we'd bring out the light up Frisbee and play until all of the mosquitoes in a 12 mile radius were full of our blood...Driving was cool back then.
I miss those days. :)
