The days of fall are getting colder and darker. A few days ago, as I was entering the basement from the garage on my way up to my apartment, the distinct odour of mothballs invaded my senses. This smell had not hit my nostrils in a very long time and it swept me right back to another time in my childhood where winter was a way of life 6 months of every year. The use of mothballs was a necessity for keeping your woolens from being eaten by moths over the summer storage season. I remember I was led to the discovery of these little white marbles by my own nose. Curious about that smell and hunting it down. I found a shoebox loaded with them in a clothes closet. I remember thinking they were so neat and fun and I started playing with them. Thankfully I don't remember thinking they were edible, but it is entirely possible that this encounter was not my first. It certainly was my first at getting caught playing with them. My Mom, bless her soul, made me part with my newfound treasure and impressed upon me the knowledge that I should not touch them. I have not done so since.
I wondered about my condition and this chemical pesticide. Of course, I wonder about all fumicides and my condition, but this particular one is on my mind as it's infusion of my olfactory nerves transported me to my childhood in a instant.