By Jennifer Savage
Yesterday I went to the grocery store for a few things and you know how that can be. But on this trip I didn’t come home with a $12 pint of huckleberries or a $25 bottle of shampoo. I got what I needed with my two children writhing in and out of the cart.
Bananas. Yogurt. Oatmeal. Butter.
My dad, Eliza and me
As I packed my groceries into my car, I opened the bottle of Gain just to get a whiff. It smelled like my Dad. The Palmolive, my grandmother’s kitchen.
Standing in the Safeway parking lot all I could think was how much I miss them.
My grandmother and Eliza
But, I suppose, it’s not worth getting into all that right now.
I love where I live and I do not regret the decisions that brought me here but there are days that if I could wish myself anywhere in the world, I would wish to be standing on my grandmother’s driveway, my bare feet burning in the August heat. I would walk up the smooth brick steps to her back door, listen to the screen door groan as I pull it open and step into the relative cool of her kitchen. I would eat a livermush sandwich with mustard on white bread and drink her cold, sweet tea. I would hear her feet sweep purposefully across the linoleum. I would even settle in and watch Fox News with her, that’s how bad I miss her some days.
Other days I would trade nearly anything to be riding shotgun with my dad on some curvy mountain road. I would listen as he told me the history of this dam, that lake, how the next town finally got electricity way back when. I would listen to him tell stories of when I was little, when he was little, when we lived just the two of us. I would drink a Cheerwine and he would drive slowly just as his father did. We would talk money or politics and I would feel as safe as a person can.
But I can’t wish myself across the miles. And my children don’t seem to want to let me talk on the phone much these days. So I catch the scent of where I’m from where I can and sometimes it’s in a bottle of Palmolive, a jug of Gain.
Jennifer Savage is a writer and mama of Eliza and Lucille. Lately, she's learning to be a city girl. She writes from her home in Missoula, Montana. She is also one of Mamalode's favorite writers and you can fall in love with her too at Jennifer-Savage.com Read more of Jennifer's mamalode articles here.
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Cheerwine…a fond memory from living and vacationing in NC throughout my childhood! My mom’s side of the family spent two weeks on the Outer Banks every summer. It’s a tradition that sadly withered away with my grandmother’s death 2 years ago. But some day I will take my kids back there to smell the ocean breeze and watch the dolphins ride the waves…
oh my. that made me all teary. granted, i’m pregnant, but wow. made me think of my gramma’s perfume. sometimes i catch bits of it drifting in from god knows where and i’m in her kitchen in oregon.
You forgot about fried bologna sandwiches with just a little bit of mustard (you know I can’t touch mayo) OR even better, a “mater” sandwich in the summer time.
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