He smelled of cigarettes, coffee and freshly cut wood.
Always. Gramps loved his coffee, he loved his cigarettes. Even to the point
where he used to joke (but not really joke) that for the “Great American Smoke
Out” my Bears Against Drugs Club taught us about in elementary school, he would
smoke extra that day. No amount of highly scientific health information he
would get from his grandkids would take that soft pack of cigarettes out of his
breast pocket. But that is okay, because the mix of the smells make up my
grandfather and I will never forget it.
The fresh wood smell was from his woodworking shop. He
sawed, carved and sanded pieces of wood into beautiful works of art in his
garage on Tom’s Drive on that beautiful mountain in North Carolina. Toy trains, baby doll cradles and knick-knacks. His
woodworking shop was one of my favorite places to be as a child. I can still
hear the machines and see and smell the sawdust floating around in the air. One
of the first things my brothers and cousins and I would do when we got to that
idyllic cabin in the woods was go out for a walk with Nanny, Gramps and Buffy
to find a big enough stick for Gramps to make into a superior walking stick for
us. We loved traipsing through the woods to find that perfect stick. He would
help us rate which ones were the best, then we would each bring one home and he
would work his magic. They would be transformed from knotty, rough sticks
into smooth, shapely pieces of wood that were obviously necessary pieces of equipment for children walking through woods. That was our walking stick for the rest of
our visit to the mountain. The walk through those woods was another of my
favorite things to do; the smell of the fallen leaves, Buffy running up ahead
and Gramps whistling like only he could so she’d stop in her tracks, and either
turn to look at him and wait for us to catch up, or come sprinting back toward
us with her ears flush against her head in the wind. The views were
breathtaking and the walks were always full of running, exploring and smiles.
Another thing we would do in those woods was shoot bb guns.
Gramps always had a stock of little bronze colored bb’s that came in those
little containers that looked like milk cartons. My brothers and I would take
turns shooting things that Gramps would hang in the woods off the deck for us;
tin pie cans, hanging on a branch from a string, milk cartons and cans lined up
on a rotting log. He taught us how to use the gun safely and how to be a good
shot. A few squirrels may have even been harmed in all of this, I don’t
remember any specifics, but I’m not ruling it out.
I can’t really say I have any music or songs that remind me
particularly of my grandfather, but the one thing I remember coming out of the
speakers in his radio was Rush Limbaugh. Or just news in general, but mainly
Rush. He was very into politics, history and current events. A veteran of WWII,
he took pride in our country and made sure to instill that in all of us. He was
so excited to get the hat one of my uncles got him that stated he was a WWII Vet. I was always proud to let people know my grandfather fought in the war. He
flew an American flag at the top of the driveway that I always enjoyed putting
up and taking down the flagpole with him. I also got to check the mail up there too which was always very exciting for me.
So, there is no denying my bratty side when I was a child…and
I don’t remember all the details, but I did “run away” from Gramps once. It
broke his heart. He probably told me no or I didn't get my way and my bratty
self proceeded to tell him that he was not my parent, couldn't tell me what to
do, so I was leaving. I made it as far as the end of the driveway and kind of
just sat there under the big pine trees for a while. We had a good heart to heart after that and all was
forgiven. He also stopped a movie once when things started to get racy and I
informed him that, “Gramps! I’ve seen Dirty Dancing!” Still, the rest of the
movie was a no-go for me that night. At least I didn’t run away;)
I can absolutely with no reserve say that of all the
memories of Gramps that I have, riding on the back of his motorcycle is at the
top of my list. Those were the most exhilarating rides, especially when we
would ride up the mountain to Jump Off Rock. The winding roads of the mountain
and wind in my face are things I can still see and feel. I remember the snug
feel of the helmet and how cool I felt wearing it.
Gramps also made amazing scrambled eggs. Random, but
factual! I could sit and reminisce all day about the wonders that made my
grandfather’s life, the whiskery kiss on the cheek from his mustache, the big
bear hugs, or the way his car used to tell us “the door is ajar” and he would
say “it’s not a jar, it’s a door.” Or how he’d cheer me on at swim meets and
taught me how to parallel park. I thought for a while how sad it is to bring my
baby girl into a world in which Gramps no longer exists…but he does exist and
he always will. Because how lucky are we all that we have these memories? The
luckiest. It’s actually fan friggin’ tasticJ
