It's strange, but four and a half years after his death, I still think of him every day. Some days it's a sad remembrance, but mostly it's situational - I will be doing something and I will suddenly hear his voice whispering in the back of my head. Dad was never short of advice, although it was almost always good.
I'm moving furniture here in Camp Borepatch as I get it ready to sell. I almost always hear him remind me Skin grows back; varnish doesn't. Thanks, Dad.
But some memories are deeply embedded. A long forgotten scent can bring a sudden cascade of them, an unexpected upwelling of that part of our soul that tells us who we are. Brigid writes of this and her Dad, and the scent of after shave. My Dad used Mennin, and the one time I smelled it in the last few years all I could think of was him and all the memories of times long ago.
Thanks, Brigid, for all those memories. And this bit made me laugh out loud:
I think the perfect man natural scent would be some sort of mysterious combination of gun cleaning fluid, coffee, bacon, woodsmoke, and dark beer (with a slight undertone of 20 year old British Motor Car Wheel Bearing Grease.)Because there is absolutely nothing in this whole wide world that's not improved by bacon ...