The logo was some variation of a cartoony french "artiste". I vaguely remember a figure with a beret. The distinguishing feature of these magic markers was that they had an aroma that corresponded to their color. Green smelled like mint. Red cherry, orange - orange, brown.....root beer. It was the early 1970's, and encouraging children to smell magic markers was acceptable, i guess. I can't say they provided hours of fun, or how many times I used them (to draw with, or smell). It's safe to assume that they wound up drying up at the bottom of a shoe box after a year or two, and were thrown away before establishing much of an impact on myself, my brother and possibly a few of my friends.

But here, now, over 35 years later, during a bought with insomnia, they have reentered my thinking. The lack of slumber puts me in a state of frustration that the memory of fairly meaningless childhood trinkets seems to diffuse. I'm momentarily consumed in the virtual peppermint and root beer aroma. Somehow, this imaginary indulgence has jettisoned me back in time and space. Although it doesn't lead to sleep, there's a small reprieve in restlessness accompanied with the transference of my spirit. The markers take an elevated significance, and sentimentality washes over me, as I visit other lost treasures. The small, plastic pegs used for establishing hits in Battleship, as well as the plastic suitcase that held the game, take a personal significance akin to the unearthing of lost tombs. Matchbook cars, orange track, whacky packs, legos, lincoln logs, and all manner of random trinkets wash over me. Each item, long overlooked and forgotten. Tossed aside until this restless morning.

The significance of each of these cultural keepsakes was likely stripped barren to anyone associated with their creation long ago. Lost to the designers of the toys, and advertisers who made them so necessary to attain. Time has given them a lacquer sheen that preserves them in my mind, beyond their capitalist designs. Having served their purpose of separating my parents of their money, the artifacts became refuse almost immediately. Buried deep in some landfill, perhaps a feint whiff of root beer attracts a beetle or worm towards a false reward.