Neat Indole, and a very, very sad topic

What does neat indole smell like to you?

Fiddly faddeling around with my table-top chest of drawers filled with little bottles of essential oils and other fragrance related paraphernalia I came across a sealed tin; curious.

Opened up said tin and inside were two little bottles of 10% indole and one little bottle of absinthe. I knew I hadn't used the indole for anything other than sniffing to see what I thought of it but both bottles had been opened and the contents half gone so quite a bit of evaporation which may go part way to explain the somewhat stale smell of the table-top chest of drawers.

A little drop of indole on the back of my hand spread a rather unpleasant smell, rapidly, through the house causing my son to come investigating. To me it smelt like rotten teeth but not too bad, no doubt because my nose shut down owing to the density of fragrance (ha!) in the air. My son having smelt it in much diluted form from another room had a better grip on the smell and said it smelt like grand-dad's shed (which we are in the process of clearing). Further explanation elicited the description that it smelt like Red Tiger Balm, heavy old varnish that had gone off, and rotting wood. I don't get any faecal smell, the popular description of the indole experience, and my son said he could kinda see where people were coming from but didn't himself find the smell faecal.

Anyway, highly recommend not dropping on the back of the hand as it doesn't just wash off and I think it is going to be a day before the smell is completely gone from my skin - what a good job I don't have to go out as although I can smell less as my nose gets used to it being around I have a sneaking suspicion that I am radiating funk.

Sad to say that the lovely smell of my dad's shed is no more; he gave up his hobbies as arthritis and dementia took hold; refusing all help (because he wasn't stupid, and you're my daughter and it's for you to do as I say, and are you saying I'm useless - he became so confrontational and aggressive, and as he was pretty far gone by the time dementia was diagnosed no-one had any idea why he was like it nor how to deal with it although we all tried to help him in his misery, poor dad) the wood rotted, the varnish perished, the fish glue decayed, and the smell of fresh sawn wood, the hum of the refrigerator, the whine of the band saw, the exclamations as hammer hit thumb, disappeared leaving a sad shadowy memory.

I've struggled, the family has struggled, mum and dad have struggled (both were diagnosed with dementia at the same time and both were well into it by then. The signs were there many years ago and those years weren't too bad. The last few years have been catastrophic; dementia robbed us all.

I'm so sad

I can't stop crying;

I know that mum and dad

are dying.

Dementia took them

long ago,

but still they're here

and I just don't know

how to stop this dreadful crying

- my heart is broken

now they're dying.

Wish I could walk with you again

Through the shadows of this lane,

Watch the bumbles and the broom

Brightest yellow in full bloom.

All the years that have gone by

Stretch out behind like one big lie

Never seeming to have existed

The devil's joke, vile and twisted.

Pictures courtesy of my son

When we used to walk with mum.

The pictures are 2010 and mark when mum and dad were last truly mum and dad.

So sad I feel I can't breath

I hold my breath as the leaves

Rustle in the summer breeze.

My aching chest begins to heave.

My commiserations to all those who grieve this beautiful May.