I’m reading Abigail Thomas’ (A Three Dog Life) little book on memoir-writing and finding it fascinating:

“Sometimes all you have to do is open a jar. The smell of Noxema takes me back to the summer of 1957, and the front seat of the old Hudson my boyfriend drove, and how we parked at the Amagansett beach at night and made out like crazy, and afterward I was afraid I was pregnant, even though we didn’t do anything but kiss. The fear and the pleasure are as fresh to me every time I smell the stuff, and I keep a jar around so I can remember being young. So hunt down your mother’s favorite perfume or your father’s shaving cream. See where these scents take you.”

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