Sparks from the Fire » inspirational blog

The Smell Of Inspiration

Peter Link — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 16:16:48 +0000

OK. I agree. “smell” is a funny word. It normally connotes something bad, though that is not the word’s intention. A smell can be something good, bad, or in between. But nonetheless, when we hear the word, our minds usually jump to garbage or breath or even worse. If one says, “He smells”, no one ever thinks that means that he smells good.

But today, in my quest for all things inspirational, I’ve decided to dive into inspirational smells. I invite you to share your own with me. Your own ideas, that is. Perhaps we’ll come up with the definitive list! So here goes…

Oops, before we start, one disclaimer, or perhaps, warning: This is only my list. You may violently disagree with some of my choices. There is, on the subject of smells, a distinct relativity to the subject. Simply put, one person’s perfume may be another’s stink. The nostrils can’t really tell, you know; it’s the brain that decides, and that choice is quite arbitrary from person to person, brain to brain.

Ah yes, and one more thing: The quite horrifying thing about smells is that when we smell something, tiny little pieces of whatever it is that we’re smelling are actually being drawn into our nose (and therefore our lungs, aaauuuugggghhhh) through the air. Gory, but true. Let’s hear it for the filtering hair follicles of our noses! It’s why we sometimes violently reject certain smells by coughing, sneezing or sometimes even vomiting.

Ok, Ok, enough already. Sorry to take you through all that, but I try to be thorough in my research. Moving on. Let’s get on to the more delightful subject at hand. Inspirational smells:

Most of us would start with the fresh smell of bacon in the morning, or perhaps fresh coffee. I, myself, am not a coffee drinker. For me, the drink is a little bit too akin to drinking mud, but the smell, I must admit signals a new day, new hope, up n’ at ‘em. And bacon cooking, now there’s an inspirational smell. Sometimes I don’t even need to eat it, just smell it.

For me, it’s lilacs in the spring. When I grew up, our entire back yard was fenced in by 10’ lilac bushes, and for several weeks in April, when the lilacs bloomed, oh my goodness, that was a time. Last week I walked down Lilac Lane back at my college where I was visiting and had to stop and simply stand there for long minutes and breathe it all in. I nearly wept with the rapture of its fragrance rekindling the memories of those times.

My wife wears White Shoulders perfume and sometimes L’heure Bleue. When I smell it from the bottles, it’s terrific, but when it’s mingled with the bouquet of Julia, it is a nosegay beyond imagination.

We have on our street a pie shop called The Little Pie Company. They wisely put their kitchen air vents blowing out onto the sidewalk. I used to pass it each morning on my walk to my studio. My step would slow at the aroma of apple pies baking. The siren’s call would begin. Sometimes I could pass by the shop with great difficulty, but most mornings I could not make it.

What is it with new cars? Why can’t that scent be bottled and sold at filling stations across the country for when your car gets old? Peel an orange, crush a cherry, squeeze a lemon, half a lime. Bake bread, cook an onion in butter, make chocolate chip cookies and the world stops for the olfactory experience.

Speaking of chocolate, I once did a show in Milwaukee. I lived within pungent range of a chocolate factory and in the morning when I awoke, when the wind was right, the air was filled with chocolate. I awoke to chocolate! Those days were always rich with promise.

The ocean is a tricky one, but when it’s right, it’s oh so right. But shift the mixture of fish and salt and air slightly and you have a slight odor. Shift it a lot and it can reek. Fresh laundry out of the dryer is face bury-able, but stand between the drying sheets outdoors on the line on a sunny day in Italy and you stand in heaven.

Cats you can have. They make my eyes water and itch and my skin crawl, but a good faithful dog laying at your feel with his muzzle resting on your foot and his tail thumping is a whiff of canine that could be bottled and sold for only special times when missing dear old Rusty.

Cinnamon. Basil. Mint. Cranberry. I could go on and on. Interesting that as I’ve sat writing, I’ve had the heady experience of each fragrant concept, I’ve relived each olfactory moment. And now, for some reason, I’m hungry.

Think I’ll go whip me up some bacon and start the day right.

Find out more about inspirational smells…

For more inspiring thoughts, music you can download,
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

Even More Inspiration

Boy’s Night Out

Peter Link — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 17:40:19 +0000

I go through life looking for inspirational things to write about. At first, when I started writing this blog, I wondered if I’d run out of things to talk about. No way. I’ve got a list as long as my arm.

Cruisin’ in a 55 Chevy

Well, last night I had an inspirational night out – with the boys. I don’t do this sort of thing very often anymore. Actually it’s been years, I’m sad to say. Perhaps it’s because I’m too busy, too married, too much the loner. Whatever the reason, I’m gonna change.

I’m in my 6th decade. So I say, “Boys Night Out” with tongue in cheek. But that’s what it was. We 4 guys spent the night riding around in Terry’s old jalopy (well, actually it was his Mercedes), we went out for pizza at our old college hangout, (well, actually it was pizza and steak) and later we hit Ted Drews in St. Loo for Concrete Blizzards (that’s some pretty serious ice cream shakes).

We didn’t get drunk, we didn’t turn on, but we talked about girls and basketball and football, cars, the Cardinals (the name of my shake was “Cardinal Sin”), our past and our future. Just four guys driving around in a car, lookin’ for something to do on their way home from a gig.

Nothing to write home about, but a night I’ll always remember. Friendships new and old. Guys havin’ a laugh. Boys braggin’ about teams they played on, great jocks we knew. Trying to reclaim our youth and totally succeeding.

Maybe it was the car. Being in that isolation pod, driving around town in the rain, in the darkness of that hallowed space – 4 boys in a car – out for a night on the town. Maybe we were a little tame. No booze, no drugs, no girls – we didn’t even turn the radio on. But we had a great time together and I found myself wishing it could go on all night. But Jim and I had a plane to catch and…

So the evening was over, but like I said, it was a time I shall not soon forget. Jim and Mac, Terry and me just cruisin’ around laughin’ and havin’ fun.

I am inspired to do it again. And again. It was inspirational because it was about friendships – a grand necessity at any age. A joy to experience, a joy to remember. And so this early morning, I’m grateful for friendships, for laughs, for some damn good ice cream and for a boy’s night out.

For more inspiring thoughts, music you can download,
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

Even More Inspiration

People

Peter Link — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 18:38:47 +0000

I flew into LA the other night and the lights went on forever. Spectacular. I’ve done this many times and since I’m a window seat guy I always have my nose pressed against the glass.

Now I know most of us have had this same experience before, (flying into NYC always has the same effect), but I just had to say it, to write about it.

Looking down on all those lights, I began to watch the cars moving on the freeways – all in perfect order, all trying to get home to their warm, cozy garages.

Then I started to think about all those drivers, the people, each with their own lives and stories, troubles and triumphs – each probably listening to the radio, perhaps singing along, perhaps not. Each one thinking completely different thoughts all at the same time.

And their energies began to all buzz and tumble and aggregate and then flow up to me sitting in that airplane seat. It was overwhelming – so much so that for some reason I burst into tears. All those people and all those thoughts… and all those separate lives.

The next day I went with my partner, Jim, to the outdoor farmer’s market in Santa Monica. He shops there every Saturday morning and whenever I’m out here (which is about once a month) I go with him to hold the bags while he shops.

This is a great job because he’s a very meticulous shopper long considering, feeling and squeezing each of those carrots or zucchinis or avocados, and while he’s doing his sorting and vegetable judging, I get to stand out there in the middle of the street and watch all the people.

My dad used to take my brother and me to the baseball game when I was a kid to watch the St. Louis Cardinals and Stan Musial (really dating myself here) and as we’d excitedly sit in the stands and watch the game, he would turn backwards in his seat and watch the fans, the people.

I must have inherited my love of people watching from him. I first came to NYC to be a director, essentially a people watcher. It is one of my skill sets – to watch and analyze human behavior. But I digress…

So there I am people watching at the Santa Monica street market and oh, what a trip. The people! Now I’ve always prided NYC for having its share of street characters and odd balls, but yesterday morning in Santa Monica, they were all out. Most of the bums in NYC are sad, cold and lonely ghosts of people, but in Santa Monica they’re somehow jollier, more goofy, more human.

And then there’s the old ladies – I see them all as ex-movie stars who have lost their looks, but not their eccentricities, not their individuality. They carry themselves and their strawberries with great pride like Hollywood royalty.

Then there’s the wealthy rich elderly men, the CEOs, the television producers and the movie moguls (it’s a high class street fair in Santa Monica) who have dressed down because it’s Saturday morning, but they just don’t know how to wear their jeans any more, they just don’t fit into them right and they end up looking kind of fruity in their attempts to look cool. Truth is, they’d be a lot more comfortable if they’d just go home and put their suits back on.

And then there’s the chicks. Ah… I wish they all could be California girls. The chicks and their boobs. It’s not really a place to buy vegetables, you know. It’s really a place to go and try out your new boobs. And you know something? It works! Half the people are struttin’ and the other half are oogling. I think they should rename it the Boob Fair.

OK, I know, this is an Inspirational Blog, Pete, so keep it that way, but I do find all these things highly Inspirational. People are Inspirational. That’s an absolute. All these lives. All these millions of varieties. All these shapes and sizes.

All these faces reflecting the multifarious individualities of their lives. All these souls struggling through this thing called the human condition. And then there’s India, and China and Africa…

Once again I’m overwhelmed. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own little life that I forget about the rest of you billions out there. Then I fly over Los Angeles and it just puts me in my place. It reminds me that I’m just one of the ants down here on the ground. It’s humbling, but it’s a good thing. I know we’ve all had these thoughts before. I just had to write mine down.

For more inspiring music you can download
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.