I miss scratch and sniff books. Although, as an adult, this idea does’t cultivate such pleasant thoughts as it did when I was four. Chocolate, mint, grape and orange were some of my favorites. If only the delightful aroma of bacon, the pork heaven of all hog connoisseurs, existed in these story books back then, like a good bird dog on point, my teacher would’ve found a reason to hit the shock collar to redirect my attention.

Our senses have a unique way of taking us back to some fond memory of a place in time where something that dearly mattered occurred in our lives.

For me, it’s my time spent on the beach as a young child and now as a more grey and mature child. There, I find the smell of salt in the air and the stink of cut bait on my hands intoxicating. It’s like southern comfort but not the hundred proof liquor that will turn even the most experienced libation consumers inside out.

The sound of waves tickling the beach, crickets in the dunes and seagulls cackling overhead is the reason why noise machines were made to relax our busy minds.

The taste of a gooey PB&J, which is always better when your mama makes it, and a freshly popped Coke is as good to me on the beach as a fine steak on any given day.

The gritty touch of sand and aged shells under my toes along with the salty ocean veneer on my skin that follows me home is such a sweet gift given by God for me to treasure.

Until the brightest of the bright minds among us develop a scratch and sniff picture book that can capture the awesomeness of what I see before me, you’ll find me here, sitting in my old beach chair, with the Embers and Band of Oz in my ears, watching a fishing line that may never pull, eating a PB&J and sipping on an icy cold Coca-Cola.