MANDY FLYNN: The real scents of Christmas

The smells of Christmas.

That’s what the sign said, big and cardboard with white and red and gold letters elegantly brushed across a pale green background. I turned the corner to find a half dozen rows of candles huddled together in all the same colors — gold and white and red and green. Some with sparkles. Others with stripes.

I can never take the sticker’s word for it. If it says it smells like cinnamon, then I want to make sure it smells like cinnamon. Or fresh pine. Or apples and pears. And so I smell it. Every time.

Apples and cinnamon smells are my favorite, tumbled together. One whose smell is heady and thick in the air when it’s lit. I once had a candle called pound cake that smelled like warm cream cheese and sugar. It smelled so good I would have eaten that candle if I hadn’t known it was a candle. For the record, I’ve never eaten a candle.

I take that back.

Once I accidentally ate part of a birthday candle that was hidden underneath some birthday cake frosting, but I don’t think that counts. It wasn’t one of those big, fat birthday candles. Just a skinny little one. So I’m going to say that doesn’t count to make me feel better.

Apples and cinnamon are my favorite Christmas candles, but since I’m being entirely honest about eating candles and all, I should probably be honest about this, too. My favorite Christmas smells are probably a little bit peculiar, and I’ve never seen a candle quite like these.

The smell of Scotch tape makes me think of Christmas. Gifts waiting to be wrapped spread out across the floor, as a little girl I remember my mother would have scissors and wrapping paper laid out on the dining room table. Beside her I would wait patiently like a surgeon’s assistant, my only job to hand her pieces of tape from the big, fat roll.

Barbies. Their hair. Their heads. Their feet, even. It could be hot as blue blazes outside in the middle of July, but if I smell a brand-new Barbie, I go back to Christmas morning, walking into the den to see one sitting by the tree, just for me. It’s a smell not everyone appreciates — not bad, not good, just … childhood.

I remember a camera my granddaddy had, one that made a loud whirring sound when you took the picture and then the photo slid out of the side. It had to be an earlier Polaroid, I suspect, only with this one, you waited a few minutes before peeling off a piece of paper to uncover the photo underneath. They were small and square and the colors were muted and a little fuzzy. The anticipation of what the picture of us crowded around the sofa in his living room next to the aluminum tree and me holding my book of Christmas Lifesavers was almost too much to bear. I begged to pull off the paper to see it first, then lay it on the coffee table to dry. The way it smelled, if I smelled those freshly taken photos today, would take me right back to that living room.

To this day, the way the cardboard box full of ornaments smells when I unpack it from the attic reminds me of Christmas years ago. I think it’s the construction paper angels and kindergarten glue. A tiny bit musty, maybe. Still oh, so great. Every time.

No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen candles that can remind me of the smells of Christmas I love most. I wouldn’t even buy a candle called Barbie feet or Scotch tape. That’s just crazy.

On second thought … I better take that one back, too.

Email columnist Mandy Flynn at [email protected].