We had a violent storm last night - the kind which makes you pull the covers up around your chin and hope the roof stays above you. The wind gusted and pushed against the window frames, rain flew in through the sliding doors, while thunder and lightning played their game high above us. I love storms, the wilder the better. I especially love to watch them from a cozy spot, like my absurdely luxurious bed. In the midst of a particularly astounding downpour I had a mental picture of my mother in her winter pyjamas curled up in bed while the weather outside got nasty. She would always dig herself under the covers and tell me to listen to the rain against the roof and window panes. Now twenty years later and nine thousand miles away, I am reminded. Can you remember the smell of your loved ones? Mom smelled like Oil of Olay or Ponds night cream, Dad on the other hand was an Old Spice man. He used to, and still does, shave with a Gillette razor, a lather brush and a tube of Palmolive shaving cream, which, until lathered has the consistency of toothpaste. He cooly whips the shaving cream into a frothy mass with his brush, and then spreads it on his freshly washed warm face before smoothly and efficiently discarding two layers of skin. I think my eldest brother James, continues the razor tradition; I am not sure of Peter (who is?) while I have adopted the electric razor. Straight edges make me break out. Funny the things we remember about our parents. A friend of ours just lost their mom and I am grateful that, God willing, I will not be crossing that road for another few decades. If ever, who knows we might be raptured up to Never, Never Land tomorrow.
We are currently dog sitting Ella, a three month old yellow labrador. Don droped her off yesterday before promptly doing an about face and heading out the door. I had never seen Don so tired. Thinking perhaps he had been on call at the hospital we soon learned that it was not sick patients keeping him up but the little yellow lab. We are however more than happy to help out in times of need and we are more grateful than ever that Daisy is fast approaching adulthood and leaving her puppy days behind.
All quiet on the Western Front or at least this side of the pond.
Reading: The Paris Review Book for Planes, Trains, Elevators and Waiting Rooms.
Listening to: Spoon
Ben
6 comments:
Ben, do you remember when we had that terrific electric storm in Kloof. All the electricity went off and you and I sat on the couch in the lounge and watched the storm and lightning, before getting candles and matches ans waiting for dad and the boys to get home.
These days I think that the only things that soak themselves in old spice are gerkins. I now waft hazily between the Body Shop "Of a Man" and Kalvin Klein, depending on how many girls I plan to ensnare in my net. As for a clean cut, smooth is as smooth does - I've always been under the impression that it is worth the trouble, and have never understood girls who settle for less. The bottom line is that if you were to try to smell me out, Benbo, you'd probably find someone else - the only person I know who still uses Old Spice is a Nigerian engineer who is now a missionary in Nairobi. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you. It goes vinegary after a while, so one lands up glowing like fish n' chips (flander & fries in the US).
I still use Old Spice, what's the problem?
you mean flounder?
"the problem", brother mine, is that after scraping a couple of layers of skin off, an alcohol-based aftershave suddenly seems less appealing ...
Michelle says her Dad uses Old Spice and a brush and razor (psycho hard-core father-in-law eek)
uh ... you mean "gherkins", "Calvin", "flounder" ...
also you should never use "bottom line" and "smell me out" in the same sentence ;)
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