Do you recognize this...

I don't know about anyone else but when I am addressed with the following question fear traces a line down my spine. The question? "Do you recognize this..." I sieze, thinking, "Why do you want to know?" What are the consequences if I answer?

Why am I this way? I don't know. It seems like such an extreme question. Like would I recognize the perp? Perhaps it can be linked to the fact that crime has touched my life in a variety of ways that aren't all that pleasant. Of course crime is never pleasant is it?

But this morning my immediate supervisor wanted to know if I could recognize my old computer. About two weeks ago I received a new computer at work. I told her I wasn't sure. So she led me to the computer in question. It looked just like my old one.

Now I'm standing there thinking I'm about to disappoint my Supervisor. I don't want to. So I reach out to touch the side of the CPU because I always stuck notes to the side of my computer. I thought perhaps I could feel some residue stickiness. Instead I felt a bump and somehow I immediately processed that the CPU was not mine! I had no doubts. I provided the required information!

They say that smells stay with you through out your life. I have a co-worker who grew up in India, southern India. He spent a lot of time at his grandfather's and attended a mission camp in the summers. Recently he told me about how those missionaries use to make something for lunch that smelled so repulsively to him and his friends. They could never place the smell.

Then over twenty years later this man met up with the smell again. It was when he was in this country and someone fixed him a tuna sandwich. Once that can came open he recognized the smell. I don't think he ate the sandwich.

Recently Queen wrote about a book she was reading. It had something to do with sounds. She had a really nice blog about the sounds of her childhood. I thought about the sounds that make up my childhood and I wrote about them in my comments to her blog. Later, I realized that all my sounds that seem significant to me were rather scary sounds. Jet planes. I lived on a military base as a small girl and there were fighter planes. They were loud. I remember going to visit my dad at the control tower and hearing those fighters. I remember I didn't like them when they were on the ground. They were just too painfully loud but when they were soaring over head it was great. They were so majestic, so awe inspiring. I use to watch them and long to fly in one. That is the most vivid sound I remember and the one that still instills those same feelings. The other two are from Iran. Helicopters landing at the end of our street. The green grocer down the street exploding. The first is scary because we were always told that if anything ever went wrong, and they (USA) need to evacuate us from the country they would send helicopters to our neighborhoods. The second one was just plain scary. I remember how the house shook from the aftershocks of the explosion. I remember the great big plume of black smoke rising in the air.

I wonder if anyone has studied touch. It seems that touching things can invoke the same responses. Like my CPU or rather my co-worker's CPU. Once I touched it I knew it wasn't mine. Or is it just some sort of bazaar behavior limited to my family? See I have a grandmother, a sister, and a brother and a child who each dislike the feel of certain things. Take the peach. My grandmother, my sister and Miss Independence absolute abhor the feel of peach skin. How I found out about Miss Independence is rather funny. We were visiting Uncle Wolfie's house and they had a lovely bowl of fruit all cut up and ready to eat. Miss Independence was enjoying the bowl very much until she found a peach. The next thing we knew she let out a screech and threw it over her shoulder. Everyone but me sat there stunned. They had no idea what had happened. I just sat there and laughed my head off. They were all looking at me. Wondering what was up with my reaction to this behavior. Once I got control of myself I explained the long heritage of anti-peach fuzz in my family. The other textures that are offensive are velvet, velveteen and cordoroy. I on the other hand do not have those. I can't stand newsprint and chalky substances. No for me touch is a very strong sense. I love satin. I had a baby blanket with satin edging. I still have that blanket. I love to touch things. In my career as a cataloger I have run into so many different books that used tactile elements to them. Perhaps that is why I love my job. Apparently touch has the ability to bring up memories like smell does for most others.