Scents of memories

It's a windy evening... the aqua color of the water as the sun sets behind it is disrupted by ruffled waves, and on the horizon is a band of silver mist where the sun catches moisture particles in its grasp and illuminates them.
Inside, where I have retreated from the wind (breaking my evening porch-sitting tradition), the lingering scents of the beef soup that I made for dinner and the bunch of fresh-cut lavender I hung in the kitchen earlier give the house a comforting, welcoming smell.
It is amazing, the power that smells have of triggering memories and giving that special dimension to experiences. When I smell pine trees and damp earth, I remember the California Redwoods and many camping experiences. When I smell a certain kind of soap, I fondly remember someone who used it. When I smell cookies baking or soup cooking, I remember my mom (and her cooking). When I smell ethnic cooking, auto exhaust, and salty sea air, I recognize the smell of Seattle.
Have you ever noticed that people's houses all have a unique smell? A mixture of the laundry detergent they use, the hand soap, the pets (or lack thereof), the things they keep inside, the age of the house, and of course the people themselves.
I wonder what my house smells like to a visitor? That could be a dangerous question, but right now for me it smells of summer wind, beef soup, lavender, and home.