In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”
Sometimes it is difficult to think of how to answer our daily prompts. But, this one came to my mind instantly like a flash. It stimulated my mind, sense of smell, and soft, tender spot in my heart. As a little girl, amidst the craziness that was my life, there was one thing that brought me comfort and pure joy. My grandfather would pick me up to set me on his lap while he was working at his desk. There were so many things atop his workspace that looked exciting to me. I suppose he was probably writing out bills, or some such thing. To me he was making life or death decisions, and finding ways to keep our world safe. His personal effects were not strewn about as you might see mine in today’s world. No. It was orderly with papers lined up in a row, envelopes in their place, and his fine pens placed neatly in the glass-topped pen box. But the most memorable to me was a shiny gold ash tray that sat at the left front corner of his desk. A cigar cutter with a snuffer right beside at the ready for the time that all the writing would be finished, papers and pens put away. That was my favorite time. Grandpa would take one of his cigars out of a wonderfully painted cigar box, use the cutters to snip the end clean off and put it to his mouth. The matches were in the middle drawer to be used only for these special times. I would watch the flame hit the newly cut cigar and it would begin to glow, There would be some little ‘puff’ sounds, and then there it was. The smoke would rise up in a cloudy stream and then as I would breathe in through my nose, that heavenly smell would float through my nostrils and penetrate my being. It was the smell of safety, of someone who loved me, my relief from turmoil. As he would begin talking to me, I never really listened much, I could melt on his chest and feel loved and secure.
That smell still brings me back to those precious moment with my grandfather. Hmmmm. I can smell it now!