The smells of life

 I will never forget certain scents that were all a part of who I am. The smell of mom's perfume is my first smell and will probably be my last as she guides me to the heavens. The smell of Dad's pipe and the sweet smell of captian black tobacco.A smell that has sometimes lingered in my room.The smell of clothes drying on a backyard clothesline, sun-drenched with the scent of lemons.The smell of fresh cut grass and burning pine from a campfire. The smells of the mountains are a smorgasbord of scents, like wet moss, dying leaves, wildflowers, and hidden patches of homegrown herbs. The scent of sweat in the forest, disguised with patchouli oil, spread across the land like wildfire. The smell of a new album and the smell of electricity coming from a group of hopeful songwriters.

The smell of gasoline and motor oil dripping from my Harley, and the scents of the roadside that passed by too quickly as I rode through them, too fast to notice. The smell of a greasy 24-hour diner, with smells on a plate that turned into smiles.Bacon and eggs, pancakes with smily faces and coffee brewed just right. Ashtrays overflowing with burned-out butts and a handful of scented mints from a bowl at the checkout counter. The unforgettable smell of new leather and fringed jackets.
The smells of the ocean and a warship that took me to far-away places. The smell of jet fuel and paint. Waiting in line for a tray full of what I'm not sure of, but soon learned that powdered eggs have no smell. The countries I traveled to, each with its own unique smell. A sidewalk cafe in France that smelled of warm biscuits, opened bottles of wine, and blocks of cheese. Spain with smells of bullfights and scooters everywhere, leaving behind clouds of exhaust. Greece that smelled like centuries ago, the aromas of carefully prepared foods, the scents pouring through windows with no glass.
For four years, I traveled the globe and experienced countless smells of cultures trying to hang on to the old ways. Some places in the Middle East had a smell all their own, a combination of smells that had been around for generations.  I was amazed by the scent of moisture from tropical forests and by the sheer number of different scents in just one place.
Growing old now, my sense of smell has all but left me. Guess I used my nose to the point of being used up. But the strange thing is I may not smell things like I once did, but I can call upon a memory any time to relive the smells of children playing and laundry drying. I can smell the inside of the ice cream truck as lawn sprinklers shoot out well water that smells like rotten eggs. I can smell my wife's perfume and kids with mouthfuls of captian crunch. I can smell the chocolates in a heart-shaped Valentine before it's opened, and when I feel the need to be alone, I go to an empty church and smell the incense and candles slowly wafting into my nose, giving me a sense of calm and quiet reflections of scents I hold close to my heart.

Mike  2026                                                               

A dog named Ralphy

 As I walked down the alley I used to take to school, I caught that musty smell, which I later found to be rotting wood and decay. There was someone's German Shepherd in a fenced area that contributed to that smell, and for some reason, I could smell it no matter how far away it was. The dog is long gone, but its collar lay almost hidden under a pile of debris, so I picked up a stick, and after several attempts I got it to the fence and pulled it under where I wiped off the tag that read, name-Ralphy-address 1212 filmore st. phone-ludlo5678.That told me old rRalphy was in his prime about sixty years ago. Just around the time I walked down that alley and passed him on my way to school. I found the house he belonged to and knocked on the door. An elderly lady answered, and I introduced myself and showed her the collar. Oh my she said, old Ralphy. A tear ran down her face as she told me the story of her 15-year friendship with him. They were inseparable; no matter where she went, Ralphy was by her side. Her dad built the caged area Ralphy stayed in when she was at school, and I told her we must have known each other back then, as I saw him every day to and from school. She said her name was Mary Wilkes but changed it to Mary Silverman when she married. I introduced myself as Mark Willis. She excused herself for a minute, returning with a school yearbook she'd kept all these years. She pointed to herself and then to me, both about eight years old. From that day forward, Mary and I have stayed in touch thanks to a dog named Ralphy. The collar is hanging on the hook she used to hang his leash, a reminder of countless walks and fetching sticks. Belly rubs and wet kisses. And a grade school yearbook that was saved for just that moment in time.  

Mike  2026                                                            

Mike  2026

Dreams of flight

 When asked what I wanted to be as a kid, my answer was quick to come out of my mouth: a bird. I practiced flying by jumping off the doghouse, but only hit the ground time and again. I'd try running as fast as I could wearing a sheet off the clothesline, which got me in trouble and still no air. So I went into my dad's workshop to look for anything I could use to soar in the sky. I came across a box labeled "school play" and opened it. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the angel wings my sister wore in a class play. I quickly got to work making alterations to fit me properly, then I devised a system of ropes attached to the wings so I could control them. I climbed onto the garage roof, which gave me a longer takeoff area, as it was a two-car garage. I decided not to jump off the roof of the house, as it could end up being a nasty fall to the ground below.

As I was just about ready to go, my folks and my sisters came outside and saw me standing on the garage roof, wings spread and all controls working properly. My mom grabbed her chest as Dad made a marathon run to the garage. I knew if he reached me, I'd never get another chance to fly. So I took in a deep breath and began running as fast as I could, and then it happened. My feet left the ground, and with a tug of the ropes, I began to fly. I was as high as the apple tree; I barely missed hitting it, then I soared around the yard watching as my family below grew smaller. Using some very off-color commands, my dad ordered me to come down at once.  I knew I was probably in for a good whooping, but it would be worth it, as my dream of flight had really happened.
I wanted to take my wings to school for show-and-tell, but my mom put her foot down, saying she didn't want to get a call from the principal telling her I was jumping off the school's roof. The wings went back into the box labeled Mike's wings and were put up in the attic for good. I never lost my dreams of flying, and when I learned the local college was offering flying lessons, I signed up, and within a short time I was behind the controls of a Cessna plane. I can't really describe the feelings I had while soaring with the birds and looking down at our garage roof, where it all began. All I know is I'm at my best, high above the ground, laughing like a kid whose dream came true. 

Mike  2026

Things that go BOO in the night

 A pair of baby shoes swings slowly on the rearview mirror. A small statue sits on the dashboard, which Mom would touch every time she drove.

A horseshoe hung above the front door for luck, and never did you step on a crack, or you'd break your mother's back. There were four-leaf clovers encased in plastic for a keychain and a shiny new penny tucked into your shoe to keep you safe from evil.
A pinch of salt thrown behind you at the dinner table and a sprig of sage to rid the house of uninvited guests. Baseball players making the sign of the cross and tapping their cleats twice before going to bat. Placing stones on a headstone for a speedy ascent to the heavens.
Everyone has some fears we half-believe, usually handed down from generation to generation and accepted as fact. And what about those scary things handed down like monsters under the bed, spirits in the closet, and faces at the window? Nightmares so real you might wet yourself as your screams could wake the dead. Parents run to your rescue, soothing you and having Dad look under the bed and in the closets anywhere a monster could be hiding.
Eventually we grow out of monsters but never let go of maybe seeing one, so you make sure every night your legs and feet aren't dangling off the bed no matter your age. You carry your lucky charms without anyone knowing and panic when you've forgotten them. It's a scary world we live in, and I, for one, can never have enough lucky charms to ward off anything that goes boo in the night. Pleasant dreams.

                                                                          

Mike  2026

Vacation on the farm

 Coming inside for lunch, he'd proudly show off his dirty hands to his grandma, exclaiming, "Just like grandpa's," as she led him to the sink. And what did grandpa have you doing, she asked as grandpa himself came through the screen door. He let me put dirt from one bucket to another one using just my hands. Then I went to the stream and filled the buckets with cool water, enough to water all the dirt buckets. But first he had me dig small holes using my fingers to plant some special seeds. Then I had to hunt for earthworms, which he taught me to find by wetting the soil and digging up handfuls, looking for anything moving. It took a long time to catch a worm, but after a while there were enough in a tin can that they could use for bait to go fishing once the chores were done. "You've had a busy morning," his grandma said as he nodded and showed off his clean hands.

With summer break over, he'd ride the school bus that picked him up and dropped him off at the start of the long dirt road that led to the house. Some days he'd see his grandma waiting for him, and they'd walk slowly as he told her about his day, stopping for a minute to show her the award he'd gotten for being the student with the best summer vacation. " I'll read it to you he said.
My summer vacation was so much fun. I got up early like my grandpa did, even before the sun came up. He would make a thermos of coffee for him and a thermos of orange juice for me. We'd put on our coveralls and work boots and head for the barn where our six cows were milked, three by me and three by Grandpa, who I knew from times before he'd look for any excuse to squirt me with warm milk. When a machine broke down, as the tractor did, I'd hand him the tools he needed, usually the wrong tool, but he was patient as I learned by doing. He taught me how to drive the tractor, letting me sit on his lap and try to steer in a straight line that wasn't straight at all. Back in town, other farmers would see us and ask if those zigzag rows were some new way to yield bigger crops.
He wrote about sleeping in a tent, night fishing, filing down a horse's shoe, and shearing a sheep. He told how, when it rained, he'd take his time walking down the dirt road, stopping to play in mud puddles and arriving home looking like he'd been dipped in chocolate. He wrote about collecting eggs for his grandma, who always prepared a hearty breakfast late in the morning, even if eight o'clock is late. He wrote about the magic seeds that transformed into rows of pumpkins and the zigzag rows of corn he helped harvest. Other kids wrote about trips to a theme park or weeks spent at the beach. But only his told the stories of learning and doing, trying and succeeding. It told of the bond he had with his grandparents and squashed the notion that playing in the dirt was, well, dirty.

That award is proudly displayed on the fridge, where he put it for all to see, and Grandma left the dirty little handprints alone as a reminder of their time spent together and the grandsons' summer vacations on the farm.                                                              

Mike  2026                                                              

Mike  2026

Life 360

 I'd sit with my granddaddy on his front porch, looking out over his fields of corn, and I asked him how they could live as they did with so few conveniences. He would finish lighting his pipe, settle back in his chair, and then speak to me.

Back when I was brought into this world in a bedroom by a midwife, you didn't travel for miles in a wagon to the nearest hospital; the woman and girls tended to the new mother's needs. And once the dad heard the babies' cries, he smiled and went back out to the fields as it was harvest time.
We never thought for a minute we were poor, as there was always food to eat and a roof over our heads. We had two sets of clothing and two pairs of shoes that would last until your toes were coming out of the shoes and the trousers couldn't be let down anymore. There weren't any department stores, but we got a Sears catalog in the mail every month that Mom could order things from, like cloth for making pretty dresses for the girls and slip covers for the good furniture, off-limits to anyone who hadn't taken a bath first.
You see that old steam tractor sitting out yonder rusting away? That was your great-granddad's first piece of machinery, which replaced the team of mules used to plow acres of land. You see that tractor just over there? That was my dad's, who was one of the first farmers to buy a diesel-powered machine that most laughed at, but soon changed their tune when they saw how fast and efficient it was.
Now we have combines so big they can harvest a crop and shoot the grains through a giant tube into waiting trucks to be filled and sent off to the mill to be stored and sold. One day's work today was a week's worth of work yesterday. Change takes time, he told me, drawing on his pipe, blowing smoke rings to my delight. When I was a boy, we had no indoor plumbing, just an outhouse that, believe me, was a cold and dark place you didn't look forward to visiting, especially in the dead of winter. But you did have a Sears catalog to read while you waited for that morning constitution.
There were no televisions or flat screens, just a movie theater in town where every Saturday evening folks would dress in their finest and eat popcorn Mom had brought along, in our own paper bags. And we'd each get a bottle of Coke-a-Cola from the vendor outside the doors. We'd watch the newsreels of the war overseas,s sometimes Mom shielding our eyes from the violence on the front lines. The movie was silent, but with actors like charlie chapman and others who didn't need to talk, as their gestures spoke volumes.
But what did you do for fun, I would ask him, and he would think for a minute, then speak. Our lives were mostly spent outdoors, working long days, starting before the sun came up and often well into the night to plow new fields, milk cows, deliver newborn calves, fix machinery, put up fences, and handle many other tasks required on a farm.
We'd go to the chapel on Sunday mornings, and when the last amen was spoken, we were off to the farm, where we'd change out of our Sunday go-to church clothes and into our rag-torn clothes. Different seasons meant different kinds of fun, like summer when we'd go to the pond and swim for hours, swinging on the rope swing back and forth, then letting loose and falling into the water. We'd catch fireflies at night along with night crawlers we'd use for bait when doing a bit of night fishing.
Winter meant sledding, snowball fights, ice hockey, and snow forts. We'd play all day if Mom hadn't called us in by ringing the dinner bell. A late supper was well worth the wait, as Mom always outdid herself in the kitchen, turning simple ingredients into masterpieces. Most of the time, Dad would take me hunting for deer or elk, which he'd dress out, teaching me the proper ways to do things. A nice slab of deer meat topped off any meal.
I asked him how he liked things today, with all those computers doing your thinking for you and all the social networks manned 24 hours, 7 days a week, spilling out any information you could ever want. I asked him if he'd ever see himself chatting or texting and maybe even finding a date. Mom yelling from the kitchen, over my dead body.
Well, my boy, I'd have to say, with complete truth, it wouldn't bother me one bit if there was a clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning and the world went black. Those throngs of city people would panic as cell phones went silent, cars quit running, and the box stores locked their doors: no DoorDash or food trucks, no ATMs, no cash. There would be a world of overeducated, underworked masses of people lost within the world they created.
As for us, we'll light the lanterns and sit around a campfire. We'd live off the land, which provides us with everything we'd need. We'd still go to church on Sundays and play outside. Mom would keep cooking with vegetables from her garden, and the smokehouse would always be full of meat. I pondered what he said, then said, "Life goes around 360, doesn't it, Granddad?" He stoked his pipe again, blowing smoke rings into the star-filled night just as Grandma rang the dinner bell.

Mike  2026

Mike  2026

Wildflowers and bumblebees

 She lay in a field of wildflowers as a warm breeze kissed her face, leaving a scent of jasmine behind for just a fleeting moment. A bumblebee flew around her head like a helicopter, looking for a place to land and finding nowhere, so it buzzed off into the distance.

She softly sang a song her mom would sing to her as they walked hand in hand in this very valley, letting the stems of flowers slide between their fingers as a summer rain shower came out of nowhere. They twirled around and around, their faces lifted upwards, letting the falling drops of heaven's nectar quench their thirst.
She had brought her journal with her, which sometimes remained just a blank sheet, but other times, like this day, the words came to her with a speed she could barely keep up with. She wrote of the valley and the wildflowers, the bumblebee looking for a place to land and holding her mom's hand in hers as they walked, sometimes in silence, taking in the wonders of the world around them, right here in their valley.
Out of nowhere, the rain began to fall, and that nectar from the heavens fell upon her face as she twirled around and around, knowing her mom was right there with her, dancing in her linen dress, spinning around and around, her laughter like a song you don't ever want to stop hearing. Tomorrow she'd venture back to the valley where the wildflowers showed off their colors and bumble bees found places to land. She'd open her journal and share her stories with her young daughter as they danced in the sudden summer rain.
Mike  2026