by Esobelle

Created on: February 06, 2009

WDark earthy cedar with a slight spice like rum this long winded scent holds tight to the air in pauses. Not just a scent but character in the room. That is the weight and feeling of this odor.

My Grandfather smoked cigars and he wore a cap, the kind of cap they wore in the 20's or so, the kind the old Irish still wear. He always drove a Cadillac and listened to Irish music. He was Irish from surname to his hair color, a light red with intelligent eyes of grey. It didn't take him long to remind you if you forgot. Any question gave cause for a reminder. Are you sick Grandpop? What do you mean, I'm Irish, I don't get sick. The same answer works for almost any question.

Knowing his ancestors came from this far off green land, this fairy place of lore, the birthplace of all his identity gave him something to hold on to. He didn't have much else.

He told me stories, someone else's retelling, sans emotion, how he walked himself to the hospital with apendicitus, how his grandmother took care of him when his mother died but made him search from bar to bar knocking for his father to collect money so he could eat. In the same breath he spoke of the pig that the other neighborhood children and he played with on their street in the city and how he jumped off a bridge into the Schuykill only to find his clothes were missing from the grass where he left them.

His words were sharp and left you with whip lash in their wake. The tone never revealed the intent
so when the meaning hit you it really hit you, or in my case very often it never did.
I remember one morning he drove us to school saying that Father Carey is a closet drinker. I imagined my priest and wondered why the man chose to drink inside the closet?

As he babysat my two brothers, two sisters and I the news mentioned a finding of tainted apples. He had us all come out to the kitchen and gave us apples. He had a sick sense of humor that I've inherited. Either a blessing or a curse, I volley my sense of humor off a person to catch and amuse only myself. That was his way as well.

He would set you up with a comment or question then his grey eyes would dance in anticipation. I learned later he was not as mischievious with my cousins, just my siblings and I. I think I was hurt at first, then I felt it set us apart, we were different and special to him. That is how I choose to remember it. I know that despite myself, I've always made him smile, he would change from the stoic pillar of propriety crumpling into a human being, one

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