Texts

I got a text today. Not unusual since I almost always get at least 20 every day, most often from our kids or their significant others.  One of the texts I got was Bryce, telling me I had butt dialed him.  My response?  Uh-Oh, did you hear me gossiping about how great my son in law is?  I got a text from Ryan, asking me if there was left overs from dinner and another one from Kaylee telling me that she loved me.   One came in from John, just telling me 143 (code for I Love You) and I even got one from Aaron, asking me how to cook oatmeal on the stove (as opposed to in the microwave)!  Carol texted me to ask me about my plans for a trip that "the sisters" have planned.

This text was from Penny.  The first one went something like this. "Do you want something else from dads belongings?" She and Carol are in Nebraska, settling dads estate and doing the unpleasant task of going through his house. My response. "I can't think of anything right now" a little later, after a small flurry of texts from both Carol and Penny I got this one from Penny...

"do you want one of dad's pipes?"  Sounds like a simple question doesn't it?

All of us have smell oriented memories.  We smell some cologne or flowers and instantly we are transported to a moment or moments in time that are intensely powerful (good or bad).  That is how it is with dad's pipes.

Dad always smoked.  I never remember thinking it was strange or bad, it just was.  He would get out this small pack of extremely thin little papers, slide one out, fold it in his already twisted fingers, and gently tap in some tobacco.  He would then roll it in his fingers and hold the edge out and lift it to his mouth, licking the edge and sealing his home rolled cigarette.  You know something strange?  I never remember it smelling bad. I only remember watching him do this amazing feat of rolling a cigarette (truly an art in those days and, of course, my dad could do anything) Then there were the pipes.  Dad had his collection of pipes and was often seen sitting, legs crossed, one arm crossed over his lap and the other one holding his pipe in his mouth.  He would puff away at it or tap it out and then just hold the pipe in his mouth.  The smell was one of the best smells I will hold close to me.  It smelled like Cherries.  I remember many times deeply inhaling the smell while he smoked his pipe and would often, when on his lap, lean in and smell his shirt.  It is a scent that I will carry with me to my grave, a scent that will forever represent  him.    I was a young girl of almost 9 when my dad and mom got divorced and many years later, on one Sunday morning, I stepped outside of our church to go get our kids from Sunday school.  That smell of cherry pipe smoke hit my nose and I instantly began looking around for my dad.  Instead, I saw a gentleman who lives around the corner from the church but used to walk around the block with his pipe clutched firmly between his teeth.  I still remember the sharp pain my heart felt when I smelled that smoke.

Yes, I want one of dads pipes. Yes........