It always begins with the warmth of the sun. Whenever I think of my grandfather, regardless of the memory or when it was made, I immediately feel the penetrating warmth of sunlight. It's followed by the sight of a twinkling eye an open toothed grin and the sound of laughter, both light and full.
I once had the privilege of sitting inside the towering walls of a bamboo forest. When the wind moved in the tips of the bamboo the stalks would sway and hit one another causing a full and deep, yet somehow gentle, sound to play on the breeze all around me. That's how I remember grandpa's laugh. Like the wind through a great bamboo forest.
I can see him perfectly in my mind's eye. His left hand (palm out and thumb down) balanced perfectly on top of his right hand (palm in and thumb up). He would hold his hands out in front of his face, forming a perfect rectangle that framed his eyes. He would say, :You don't need a camera to make memories that will last forever. Any time you want to remember something special you just stop and think 'I want to remember this moment forever' that's how you make Kodak Memories." All of these years later and that's how I remember him best. The man who taught me the pledge of allegiance, how to properly use my singing voice and how to give the softest of Eskimo kisses. In flashes of memories like still frames frozen in my heart.
There is heat emanating from the smooth hard surface of the metal wagon that is spinning me in tight loops around the yard. It is pulled by a loud and angry riding lawn mower. My fingers ache as they grip the sharp angles of the wagon's side. I cannot tear my hands free but I refuse to let grandpa know how scared I truly am. I feel at once exhilarated and terrified as the engine belches out it's syncopated rhythm with its raucous motor swallowing the sound of grandpa's cheery cry, "Hang on kids, it's about to get bumpy!."
It is late spring or early summer and we are having a picnic of some kind. I am surrounded by family, friends and laughter. I can smell the odors of freshly turned earth, newly mowed grass and a mix of blooming lilacs and peonies. Odors that I will come to forever associate with home. I climb up the side of the table and into grandpa's open arms. As I lean in to give him a hug my cheek rubs against his, stirring up the spicy musk of his aftershave. His cheek is warm from the sun and scratches mine with the stubble of his beard. A giggle bubbles to my lips and is echoed in his responding laughter. His whole chest heaves as he laughs and cuddles me into the safety of his arms.
I wake up feeling perfectly comfortable and still. My face is pressed deep into the cushions of the 'medicine couch' in grandpa's office. I breathe in deeply the scent of the couch mixed with old papers, books, fresh ink and grandpa's spicy aftershave. I lie still and try to keep my breathing regular and calm. I don't want anything to break the delicate web of this perfect moment. Eyes fully open now I take in the golden hue of afternoon sun streaming through the window and bouncing off the cream colored walls. Behind me I hear the steady rhythm of typing and the reassuring squeak of metal as grandpa shifts in his chair. Mentally I trace lines on the thick off white paper I know is secured in that great brick of a typewriter which makes its home in the center of his desk. Thunk, tic, tak, toc, chink, tak, tic, tak....ping! Whirr....next line. I slowly and quietly rotate my body around on the couch, careful not to alert him to the fact that I am awake. I study the shape of his head under thinning grey hair, the line of his neck disappearing into his sharply ironed collar. "I want to remember this moment", I think, "I have to remember every detail!". Grandpa spins to grab a sheet of paper at his side. As he swivels in the chair his eye catches mine. The fragile web is broken, the moment suspended forever in my heart.
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