Memories
Growing up in Mississippi in the nineties we enjoyed what little snow we got. Barely a foot doesn't sound like much but we were overwhelmed with ideas of snowmen and snowball fights.
I will never forget playing outside with my brother and a friend from across the road, whose step father inherited his uncle's old house, which at the time still had hardwood floors and a wood heater on bricks in the living room that had such a wonderful aroma of cedar and his vanilla pipe tobacco. I remember one winter while playing in the snow, when our socks got soaked and we had to go to our neighbors to get warm. We hang our socks on a rack in front of the heater and waited for them to dry. There's no telling what kind of stories from that man we heard. Stories like the ghosts of the graveyard from the church that had been nearby many years before, to the ceiling fan on the porch outside that had been to court for hurting some boys for swinging too high on there porch swing. But, now, about 10/12 years ago, his wife made him quit smoking, and they have replaced the wood heater with a gas. I'll never forget those warm memories, but will always miss them. When I think about the man's vanilla tobacco and how wonderful an aroma it had it reminds me of what my mother told me about the kind my grandfather smoked. According to her it was a foul smelling expensive brand that he would only smoke on special occasions, or when someone would buy it for him on his birthday or christmas.
I will never forget playing outside with my brother and a friend from across the road, whose step father inherited his uncle's old house, which at the time still had hardwood floors and a wood heater on bricks in the living room that had such a wonderful aroma of cedar and his vanilla pipe tobacco. I remember one winter while playing in the snow, when our socks got soaked and we had to go to our neighbors to get warm. We hang our socks on a rack in front of the heater and waited for them to dry. There's no telling what kind of stories from that man we heard. Stories like the ghosts of the graveyard from the church that had been nearby many years before, to the ceiling fan on the porch outside that had been to court for hurting some boys for swinging too high on there porch swing. But, now, about 10/12 years ago, his wife made him quit smoking, and they have replaced the wood heater with a gas. I'll never forget those warm memories, but will always miss them. When I think about the man's vanilla tobacco and how wonderful an aroma it had it reminds me of what my mother told me about the kind my grandfather smoked. According to her it was a foul smelling expensive brand that he would only smoke on special occasions, or when someone would buy it for him on his birthday or christmas.
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