Does My House Smell Like Old People?

Let’s admit it. We have all walked into an older person’s home and thought, “There is a funny smell.” Not bad, exactly. Just musty, old, and oddly familiar.

Maybe it was a grandparent’s house. Maybe a neighbor. We didn’t say anything. We just made a mental note, kept talking, and hoped our own homes would never cross that invisible line.

Lately, I have been wondering if mine has.

I have started asking people if my house smells like old people.

Not strangers like the Amazon driver—people I trust to tell me the truth.

My great-nieces, Mackenzie and Presley, spent the night before an early flight. My house is closest to the airport, and I am still good for a 5:00 a.m. ride. They are in their twenties, which makes them excellent candidates for this assignment. Their noses still work, and they are usually brutally honest.

After they had been inside long enough to detect anything suspicious, I asked, “Does my house smell old?”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes and gave me the death stare for which the women in our family are famous.

Presley responded in her sweet Southern belle voice. “Harv, is that what you’re fixated on this time?”

Neither one answered the question. They reached for their energy drinks and barbecue chips and turned on Netflix.

The problem is that we cannot smell our own houses. Our noses adjust. We walk through the door and smell home. Other people may smell poor ventilation, older furniture, closed rooms, years of cooking, pets, and something that has been hanging in a closet since the first Bush administration. None of it happens overnight. The smells settle in gradually, which is probably why the people who live there are the last to notice.

I have asked Christy, my friend who cleans the house. She said no. She, of all people, should know, and she would be honest.

I have asked Mia, who recently helped me organize my closets. She looked at me as if I were crazy but graciously opened a closet and let me watch her face.

“Just tell me the truth. Does it smell old?”

She shook her head and said it was fine.

I believed them. Mostly. “Mostly” is carrying considerable weight in that sentence.

Some older people’s homes smell wonderfully fresh. You walk in, and there is nothing musty, medicinal, or vaguely suspicious waiting to greet you. The air smells clean. The furniture smells clean. Even the closets seem trustworthy.

I admire these homes more than I probably let on. Whatever those people are doing, I want the name of it.

Even though my research team all said the house smelled fine, I decided to take preventive measures.

I started with lavender sachets in the closets. Then I reconsidered. Lavender smelled sleepy, a little too much like an assisted-living gift shop.

I switched to eucalyptus and rosemary. They smell more like a spa, and I have decided, based entirely on personal preference, that spas are youthful.

So far, Mackenzie has given me the death stare, Presley has asked what I am fixated on now, Christy has said no, and Mia has assured me the closets smell fine.

That should be enough evidence for anyone.

Apparently, I am not anyone.

I may have to broaden my research and ask the Amazon driver. They will be bringing me more eucalyptus sachets anyway.