I lived with a smoker for a time. A bad time. I left with some of my clothes in trash bags as women often do, at least in my experience. Once I became settled, a few months later I went to "unpack" my clothes in one of the trash bags and the stench of smoke almost knocked me over. I never noticed the smoky smell while living in that house with that smoker. Nose blind.
My grandfather smoked cigars..I didn’t hate the smell then and I don’t now. As a child I smelled like my parent’s cigarette smoke. I hated it then and still do.
That is just bella- beautiful. A beautiful piece. And I can smell that smell, thank you very much. Everyone has said everything. We all had so much smoke in our noses none of us could smell it any more. But cigar smoke is special, and your Indian father wreathed in smoke like Santa Claus and "Up the chimney he rose" is like no other.
You are opening my eyes to a different kind of legacy. We all have one whether we are aware of it or not. I think yours comes with more responsibility and no part looks easy to me. thanks
Sheman, I love this poignant piece. It's amazing the power certain smells have. My mom smoked cigarettes when I was growing up, and I always loved the smell of when she would light up. She quit smoking when I was a teenager.
In my 30s I was diagnosed with breast cancer and was lucky to survive this disease and its grueling treatments. But in the back of my mind, and without laying blame, I wonder if the cigarettes had anything to do with my getting this disease. I will never know.
What a lovely essay… when I was in a foster home when I was 17 in 1983 there was a girl who hoarded cigarettes. I didn’t smoke. One day I snuck a peek inside the suitcase under her bed. The stench of her “smokes” drifted up to me. There must have been over 1,500. The full story coming later this year when my next book is published… I’ll never forget how perplexed I was by her obsession and that special smell…
My father was a downtown Seattle lawyer, respected firm. He smoked a pipe tobacco made in town, called Brewster's Blend. When he died, everything he'd owned smelled like Brewster's Blend, and the tobacco pouches he had with him always, show up in this or that box of memories now and then....everything, even the seat of his old Chrysler smells like Brewster's Blend....
I lived with a smoker for a time. A bad time. I left with some of my clothes in trash bags as women often do, at least in my experience. Once I became settled, a few months later I went to "unpack" my clothes in one of the trash bags and the stench of smoke almost knocked me over. I never noticed the smoky smell while living in that house with that smoker. Nose blind.
Thanks, Sherman, for introducing me to the term “nose-blind”
Now If only my wife would develop this for when I happen to burp in the car!
Have to say I love how you’re aging.
This brought good memories of my dad back. Thank you!
I have a handkerchief that belonged to my dad. I used to keep it in a ziplock bag to preserve the scent… it faded anyway. :)
👍👌🖖🏿
You’ve really inspired me to start adding voice recordings for my poems
My grandfather smoked cigars..I didn’t hate the smell then and I don’t now. As a child I smelled like my parent’s cigarette smoke. I hated it then and still do.
That is just bella- beautiful. A beautiful piece. And I can smell that smell, thank you very much. Everyone has said everything. We all had so much smoke in our noses none of us could smell it any more. But cigar smoke is special, and your Indian father wreathed in smoke like Santa Claus and "Up the chimney he rose" is like no other.
Love the final line, touching.
"We carefully separate our compost and recyclables but we thoughtlessly harm our friends, family, and lovers with our behaviors, words, and silences."
Why is it that off-hand comments & habits and lack of communication can cut and leave no scar?
Thank you, Sherman, for your wonderful writing. Somehow, it's always about much more than the words on the page.
I started smoking year my father stopped. Maybe I missed the smell? I miss him now.
You are opening my eyes to a different kind of legacy. We all have one whether we are aware of it or not. I think yours comes with more responsibility and no part looks easy to me. thanks
Sheman, I love this poignant piece. It's amazing the power certain smells have. My mom smoked cigarettes when I was growing up, and I always loved the smell of when she would light up. She quit smoking when I was a teenager.
In my 30s I was diagnosed with breast cancer and was lucky to survive this disease and its grueling treatments. But in the back of my mind, and without laying blame, I wonder if the cigarettes had anything to do with my getting this disease. I will never know.
What a lovely essay… when I was in a foster home when I was 17 in 1983 there was a girl who hoarded cigarettes. I didn’t smoke. One day I snuck a peek inside the suitcase under her bed. The stench of her “smokes” drifted up to me. There must have been over 1,500. The full story coming later this year when my next book is published… I’ll never forget how perplexed I was by her obsession and that special smell…
Yikes. My hear goes out to you....
My father was a downtown Seattle lawyer, respected firm. He smoked a pipe tobacco made in town, called Brewster's Blend. When he died, everything he'd owned smelled like Brewster's Blend, and the tobacco pouches he had with him always, show up in this or that box of memories now and then....everything, even the seat of his old Chrysler smells like Brewster's Blend....
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