For some people, the scent of a certain flower or food triggers a flood of happy memories.  For me, it’s motor oil.

I grew up in a duplex between my grandparent’s house and the garage where my grandfather conducted his business as an auto mechanic.  The smell of motor oil brings me right back to those innocent days, sitting on a concrete front porch, watching him fix cars in his grease-stained blue pants and shirt, tools clanging, the occasional swear word echoing from the rafters.

The visual equivalent of motor oil, for me, is the Snap-On tool truck I sometimes see in Southern California traffic. The big Snap-On truck used to make its way up the narrow incline into our yard every few weeks.  When I see one now, I get misty eyed.

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