If I go into a local hardware store, I am transported to Moffa's Hardware Store. Joe or Frank is at the counter, "What can I do for you?" The black and green check floor is worn. I am 10 year old getting nails with dad or 20 years old and watching with amazement as one of the Moffa brothers mixes paint.
My Grandparent's house has its own smell. A mixture of Wisk, Cedar and stubborn love. I noticed it every time I walked in.
Things are being cleared out of their house now. Although the house will stay in the family, they will make it their own -as they should. That unique smell that has always been a welcoming sensation will probably fade away. The dismantling of a home has been hard on this heart of mine. I think it has been hard on most of us. It was a home away from home for so many of us. The photos on the walls, every grandchild's senior photo up in a matching frames, old photos of great great grandmothers... The empty Meletti Anisette bottle in the back room of the basement, precious moments and Precious Moments in the 100s. They are all so apart of the fibers of my soul. They are the things you could always count on seeing and never changing. Until now. Left only in our memories and the few things we took to remind us of the lifetime we lived with them.
Sometimes, I will drink in those few articles of clothes I took from her closet and smell Gram.
For a moment, I am in the back room with her. Jeopardy is on. She will be keeping track of the Phillies game later. I will clip the coupons she saved for me. Her soft crooked fingers are holding mine...
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