I love dining by candlelight. I can hardly wait until the days grow shorter and cool enough to huddle a little closer around the warmth of the family table. And because I love the aromas of fresh herbs and tantalizing meats and vegetables, you can bet those candles won't be competing for my olfactory attention with cloying or harsh odors. Non-scented candles are the rule when it comes to setting a delectable table.
Scented candles have their place to be sure. Save the lavender for the bedroom and the sandalwood for the livingroom if you like. But scent is only one consideration. Just what is being burned and breathed, anyway, when we light that match? Turns out that the vast majority of cheaply produced candles are made of paraffin, a petroleum derivative. Ick! A better alternative are those made of traditional beeswax. For an entertaining look at how a modern craftsperson makes beeswax candles, I refer you to Daryl Hannah's profile of the Blue Corn candle makers and beekeepers. (Note: After this week, you will find it in her archives under the title "beeswax", week 16.)
These days, it seems like I can't watch a half hour of TV without being bombarded with products designed for my nose. I can understand the product manufacturers wanting to mask an unpleasant chemical odor, or enhance the pleasure of using an otherwise nondescript product. But the recent glut of odor oriented products have reached new heights of nuerotic obsessiveness over the marketability of the perceptions of our schnozz.
There are two products that vie, in my mind, for Dumbest. The first is a product that purports to create a "fresh" odor wherever you spray it, which the audience is encouraged to do more liberally than a puppy with a hyperactive bladder marking it's territory. The product name rhymes with "fib-ease". Even more ludicrous are those little cd-player machines that "play" an array of scents into the room as if it were some kind of olfactory music. If our perceptions of odors is as closely linked to memory as biological science tells us, I shudder to think what disorienting and random collection of events will, in future, become ingrained in the personal histories of people who live in such an environment. I can see a future day at the beach bringing back vivid memories of.....what? Vacuuming the livingroom? Watching TV? Commercial jingles? (Big Brother is a stinker!)
The stinkers are everywhere. Plugged into walls, sitting on the counter top, shooting out of a spray bottle in regularly timed intervals. This can't be good for us, people. Thank God I am not one of those poor souls who is allergic to them. Think of the poor household pet, who's sensitivity to smell is about a bazillion times more acute than us featherless bipeds. I remember reading about one pet owner who took her dog to a pet psychic, wanting to know what was causing him to drool, pant and become hyper anxious when he came home from being away. Turns out it was the odor of one of her cleaning products. She took the chemicals away and poof: Rover is happy again.
Sometimes chemical manufacturers add a scent to a product that is toxic and odorless, so as to warn the user that "there's something in here that you should be careful about." I wonder how many odors are there to mask the same thing?
Maybe we should raise a stink about it and let Mother Nature lead us by the nose instead.