Thank you for a heart-warming and sometimes humorous portrait of your father. I had to chuckle at the image of the horseshoe crab hanging over the side of the pot. Now, I'm going to get up and go into the kitchen, open my container of cloves, and take a deep breath.
A writer friend of mine whose father was a dentist HATES the smell of cloves. She pointed out to me it's a dental office smell used in various dental concoctions that mute a toothache!
I think time and distance help bring clarity. The cloves were a wonderful prompt, leading me to articulate feelings I'd never quite said to myself. Writing's gift to the writer. ....
I love this piece. Especially as a fellow foodie and lover of cloves. They say memory persists through scenr, so what a smart thing that you kept your father‘s jar of clothes to smell.
Thank you! I can't say I had the foresight, but yes, for me and probably many, smells (plus the music I loved as a teenager) bring memories whooshing back. Too bad we don't have "smell" prompts!
For the majority of my life, aromas have been a powerful memory engine for me too. Having lost the acuteness of my sense of smell has left me more than a little sad at times. As I read, the presence of your dad and your life with your dad was so real, I could “smell” the cloves. Thank you for bringing that joy to my day.
What a vivid, spicy story this is. I can hear your father calling you and your sister to meals and smell all the spices he must have been saturated with--including the spices of affection and care. He sounds like the kind of person we could all use a lot more of these days. Given the high anxiety that current politics arouse in me, I might adopt his mantra as mine: Don't stew! Do! Thank you for writing this!
I love this so much. To be aware of his imperfections and yet have this memory of how he knew what you needed in that moment and did what he could to give it to you.
thanks, Heidi. shorter is so much harder than longer--another way of saying Less is More--but so much richer. More like doing topiary than trimming overgrown bushes!
There’s so much we can do! We can stand up, show up, speak out, resist, call our reps and voice our requests/demands, and, as Baba Ram Dass would say, love each other and work to ease all suffering. ❤️
And thank you for reading it, Katie. Writing about someone so long gone was remarkably revealing for me as well. I pulled together pieces of the Father Puzzle I had never quiet pulled together that way.
This is so gorgeous. I love a story that ignites the sense of smell and the cloves left their lingering potent mark on this one. I was so impressed by the father’s lust for life and so stunned by the line where she reveals that he died 50 years ago. It all felt so fresh.
Luckily I had those cloves. I never ever forgot that morning in the boat, but I wonder if I would have found my way back so vividly to that moment without that ratty-looking jar of cloves as a prompt.
So Christmas and cloves must be filed together in your memory bank. Nice. And thanks for reading about my dad. I haven't written all that much about him before.
Wonderful!
💓
What sweet, wonderful memories.
❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for a heart-warming and sometimes humorous portrait of your father. I had to chuckle at the image of the horseshoe crab hanging over the side of the pot. Now, I'm going to get up and go into the kitchen, open my container of cloves, and take a deep breath.
Perfect ❤️
A writer friend of mine whose father was a dentist HATES the smell of cloves. She pointed out to me it's a dental office smell used in various dental concoctions that mute a toothache!
Attuned to vulnerability and savory spices. What we need in abundance in times like these. Thank you.
Yes! ❤️
yes, I agree! We could all do with a little more to savor in our lives right now. More vulnerability and kindness as well!
Very touching.
Thank you for reading 💓
Thank you, Elizabeth. What sweet memories of your father. He had a beautiful heart.
❤️❤️❤️
I think time and distance help bring clarity. The cloves were a wonderful prompt, leading me to articulate feelings I'd never quite said to myself. Writing's gift to the writer. ....
What a great remembrance of your father. I could smell cloves as I read it. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you for reading 💓
And thank you, Sharon, for reading what I wrote.
I love this piece. Especially as a fellow foodie and lover of cloves. They say memory persists through scenr, so what a smart thing that you kept your father‘s jar of clothes to smell.
Yes, so powerful ❤️
I bet Proust would agree with you! Scents really are so evocative!
Thank you! I can't say I had the foresight, but yes, for me and probably many, smells (plus the music I loved as a teenager) bring memories whooshing back. Too bad we don't have "smell" prompts!
For the majority of my life, aromas have been a powerful memory engine for me too. Having lost the acuteness of my sense of smell has left me more than a little sad at times. As I read, the presence of your dad and your life with your dad was so real, I could “smell” the cloves. Thank you for bringing that joy to my day.
Love this 💓
I know what you mean about aromas. I can still recall my first boyfriend's aftershave lotion!
What a vivid, spicy story this is. I can hear your father calling you and your sister to meals and smell all the spices he must have been saturated with--including the spices of affection and care. He sounds like the kind of person we could all use a lot more of these days. Given the high anxiety that current politics arouse in me, I might adopt his mantra as mine: Don't stew! Do! Thank you for writing this!
Yes, good advice ❤️❤️❤️
Yes! And if only we knew what to do!
I love this so much. To be aware of his imperfections and yet have this memory of how he knew what you needed in that moment and did what he could to give it to you.
💓💓💓
You're exactly right! My father was a complicated man, and sometimes difficult man, and I appreciate that you could see that. Thank you.
Oh, this is so well written. A complete portrait of a father in about 600 words? Divine.
thanks, Heidi. shorter is so much harder than longer--another way of saying Less is More--but so much richer. More like doing topiary than trimming overgrown bushes!
There’s so much we can do! We can stand up, show up, speak out, resist, call our reps and voice our requests/demands, and, as Baba Ram Dass would say, love each other and work to ease all suffering. ❤️
And thank you for reading it, Katie. Writing about someone so long gone was remarkably revealing for me as well. I pulled together pieces of the Father Puzzle I had never quiet pulled together that way.
This is so gorgeous. I love a story that ignites the sense of smell and the cloves left their lingering potent mark on this one. I was so impressed by the father’s lust for life and so stunned by the line where she reveals that he died 50 years ago. It all felt so fresh.
Thank you!!
Luckily I had those cloves. I never ever forgot that morning in the boat, but I wonder if I would have found my way back so vividly to that moment without that ratty-looking jar of cloves as a prompt.
What a beautiful story of your father. I love the smell of cloves as we used them to decorate fruit at Christmas time. Thank you for sharing!
So Christmas and cloves must be filed together in your memory bank. Nice. And thanks for reading about my dad. I haven't written all that much about him before.