My house doesn’t smell like anything in particular. At least it didn’t, until I went away for ten days. You can’t leave a house alone like that or it gets bored and starts developing an olfactory personality, and not one you’re personally supervising.
No idea what that smell is. When I was a kid I called it “basementy,” so it’s probably some kind of mildew-and-spider situation. Supposedly we get nose-blind to our own houses, and that makes sense if we’re talking a period of a few hours or something, but it seems to me if you go away for a day and come back you should have nasal amnesia and get the full effect. But you don’t.
I can’t say it was a terrible smell, but it wasn’t subtle either. I was embarrassed. Is that what people smell when they walk into my house? It was like when I started wearing a face mask and suddenly my own breath came back at me smelling like silage and mouse turds and I wondered why I had any friends at all.
So I googled “Old House Smell.” I thought I made it up, but it’s a thing. And this house dates to 1906. Evidently I should be washing my walls, which seems like a losing proposition and will never happen. And I should be vacuuming three times a week (same). And I should throw out my furniture periodically, and maybe there are dead animals in my walls.
I’ve had dead animals in my walls. You don’t have to google that. You just have to wait it out and hope the offending corpse has insulating properties. This ain’t that. This has a microbial signature.
One commenter on the topic referred to the mustiness as an “old people smell.” I’d like to object, but a lot of us old people do smell funny. It’s pee and medicine mostly but also decaying skin cells and existential dread. When I’ve been gone too long, my old house lets out a loose fart when it gets up from a chair, peers over its half-glasses at me, and calls me Young Lady in an aggrieved tone. So there’s something to it.
But every site I checked made sure to mention that something may have died in the house. And that’s when it hit me. It’s Miss Jane Farrelly.
Miss Jane Farrelly is the never-married daughter of the incompetent original builder of our house, Peter Farrelly. The Farrellys were a good Catholic family, one assumes, so Miss Jane had the options of marrying or becoming a nun. Instead she started mountain-climbing and moved to Alaska where she was known for going hiking with all her girlfriends. The more I learned about Miss Jane the more I liked her. Unfortunately she developed a heart ailment and shipped herself from Alaska to Portland in 1941 to be cared for by her sister, but she died the day after she arrived. In her sister’s house. My house.
Miss Jane was not one to be cooped up. I need to open some windows around here and allow her ghost to air out. She needs the sweet, crisp smell of freedom.
It indeed would be worse if it smelled like Febreeze. It’s supposed to be the most popular scent, as it’s seemingly ubiquitous. I can always tell when it’s laundry day for folks in my neighborhood; when they are drying their clothes, the outdoors reeks of Febreeze. I find it nauseating.
I tend to buy most of my clothes from consignment shops, thrift shops, or garage sales. I think that they use Febreeze spray to give them a “fresh” scent. Or else their previous owners used it. Once I get these things home, I immediately wash them. It sometimes takes several launderings before the smell goes away. I prefer my clothes to have no scent at all, but if it must I would rather it be subtle and of my own choosing.
Mine is generally not subtle, and of my own oozing.
I miss my sense of smell. It disappeared way back in the 1990’s when I was using Zicam nasal spray to supposedly shorten a bad cold. I don’t remember the cold, but I do remember the slow discovery that I couldn’t smell anything. Not baking bread, or chopped fresh basil, or flowers.
I almost joined a class action lawsuit against the makers of Zicam, but I hadn’t the receipts to prove when, exactly, I used the stuff, and when I went to the doctor for the problem, if indeed I had.
Once in a while I get a faint whiff of something. I buried my nose in the sweet blooms of a peony out in the garden, and either the actual smell or the memory of it came to me. Swoon. Then gone.
Oh, Susan! This breaks my heart! I’m so sorry that you’ve been deprived of a sense that we all seem to take for granted. From now on, I will revel in the smells of manure, mold, and yes, even Febreeze. ((hugs))
That is a terrible thing. And it’s too bad, because Zicam is a wonderful thing.
I’m so sorry that happened to you. I lost my sense of smell to Covid last October, and only half of it has returned. I keep away from homeopathic stuff (like Zicam). Someone once recommended a homeopathic topical gel for a persistent ache, so I broke my rule and used it. Then I read the label. It listed several ingredients in non-existent quantities and a large amount of belladonna that was not only actually there, but probably illegal.
I didn’t know Zicam was considered homeopathic, which to me means “quackish.” I do think it squelches incipient colds. But the sense of smell thing only happened when they used the nasal spray. Now it’s just a tablet you chew.
This was a good read (though I was sorry to read about Susan’s loss of smell). I remember as a kid in the 1960s, we had a very old Hungarian woman who lived on our street named “Katje” and she’d invite the kids to her house for chocolate cake, which always very bitter and made me wonder if she was trying to poison us. Anyway, her home always smelled like feet, wet paper and medicine and just reading this piece took me back to those smells!
Do you ever have olfactory hallucinations? I sometimes do. One of my uncles used to smoke a pipe with Half and Half tobacco. After he died, I sometimes thought I caught a whiff of it from time to time, even though he had never smoked in my house. Sometimes I think that I smell vanilla, although I seldom use it. Paul also used to have olfactory hallucinations, although we never smelled the things that the other person was smelling. I’m wondering how common these events are.
I smell things that aren’t there. I remember one time in elementary school whether the teacher smelled onions. She said no and then said she couldn’t smell anything but frying onions. But it was a remembered smell, not real.
My sense of smell used to be acute to the point that I was once used to locate a dead animal. It’s not bad now, but definitely not a 10 anymore.
I already know where the dead animals are. They’re in my birdbath. Story for another day.
I didn’t want to share it here, but in January 2024 I had covid which became post covid, still battling it, one of the first symptoms is a strong smell of diesel fuel. This went on for months, I thought I was going crazy, then one night a friend sent me a video of Emma Samms from a year ago, complaining of “the constant whiff of diesel” after being stricken with long covid. Am still fighting the pain & inflammation, but the smell (which can get quite strong) has mellowed into a background smell of burnt oatmeal. Just met with my neurologist yesterday and he says all I can do is hope the “relapse-remission” cycle tires itself out.
This is horrible, Doug. Doesn’t sound like you’re “post” anything. Still in the throes. What a weird disease. I haven’t had it yet.
Thanks Murr and yeah it really sucks–this is “Month 17” and most long-covid cases last 2-3 years (if you’re lucky). I got infected with covid 4 times over 4 years, which raises the odds significantly of it becoming long covid. The irony is, I never missed a vaccination or booster. End of boring rant!
Wife and I both had it twice in a single month (the same month). She spiked a fever of 104.9, but it was brief. I hope you get some relief soon! You have convinced me to mask more consistently when I go out.
Ack ack! Double Ack! Feet, wet paper, and medicines. And “not wanting to share it here…” I have come to believe, and appreciate, that DAMN NEAR ANYTHING can be safely shared here.
Love this post, Murr. It does remind me of how my grandpa used to smell — like sweat, auto grease and chewing tobacco. My siblings agree that’s what he smelled like and that it wasn’t unpleasant. It might have been unpleasant if he wasn’t somebody we loved, though.
My dad worked with a bunch of smokers, cigarettes, cigars and pipes. I remember him smelling like that when he’d come home. My family had no smokers, but in those days cigarettes and cigars were everywhere and when I smell them now there are good memories associated with those smells.
My grandpa was from Scotland and I remember that he smelled a bit salty, not a bad smell, but in these days when everything is hyper clean and sanitized, he would have stood out.
I can well imagine that combination of smells. And, Bruce, doesn’t it seem like we’ve missed a whole landscape of personal information by wiping out smells? That whole musk thing and armpit thing and crotch thing and how it gets the motor running…what does that now? Only thing I know is I’m actively repelled by manufactured scents designed to be appealing.
Except “peach” anything.
Your own breath smells like silage and mouse turds?? And febreze is definitely worse than old house/old people smell. When people use that stuff they’re just layering one smell over another over and over. I have an old friend who uses “Glen 20” a disinfectant spray that also kills odours according to the labels. He sprays his sheets, his mattress, his socks and shoes, so he doesn’t have to wash anything. You can smell his house half a block away. I’m sure your house isn’t that bad, but maybe hire a cleanin company to do the walls and carpet thoroughly, then you’ll be good for a few more years.
Hell no river. I’m opening the windows and whatever that doesn’t take care of doesn’t need to be taken care of! You know–probably. Maybe. Oh dear. I need a neutral set of nostrils.
At our “Wine and Read” book club (that meets at a winery or bar) we were discussing “The Sentence” by Louse Erdrich. In the book, there is a ghost at the book store. This inspired a round of confessions of ghostly encounters by each person at the table. Too many tales to tell, but one of us advised that the best way to avoid unpleasantries from a resident spirit was to invite them in, tell them they are welcome, and that you mean them no harm. I replied by welcoming my own spirits in, having ordered a cocktail instead of a wine that night. Perhaps talking to Miss Jane will help you if it doesn’t “wake the dead.”
If someone did intend harm to a ghost, what would it be? I think it’s tricky to deport them. They can just dematerialize behind a door or something. We had a ghost that threatened to kill us with a knife. Her name was Dodie and she had died in the house a year or more before my father bought the place. The threat was communicated via a Ouija session with my 13 year old neighbor. Later, we were heading out through the kitchen and heard my mom call out, “Where have all my knives gone? I can’t find one!” Well, that sent us screaming out the door.
Please swear that is a true story! HA HA HA HA HA!
100% true.
I read that book, Stuart. Oh, I have a feeling Miss Jane and I woulda gotten along like a house afire. This house has been occupied either by a Farrelly or by me and Dave for a continuous 119 years.