My grandfather, my Pawpaw, had a stroke when I was five. It was a stroke of the life altering kind, the killing kind. He lived, and a very long time, but he was never the same person after. I only have a few real memories of him prior to the stroke, and then I have things that I think I remember because people have told me them so many times -- faux memory constructs.
Here is what I remember of him from before he had his stroke. He mowed my grandparents lawn in a blue and white patterned polyester shirt and shorts. Sometimes he mowed ours, too. He drove us to the beach, and their beach house, in a big battered blue station wagon. He listened to old country and sang loudly and somewhat badly. But happily. He took me out into the Gulf all the way to the second sandbar, him walking and me floating along in an innertube. He took me to his office, and in it he kept a bag of lemon drops in the bottom right drawer just for me. There are a few more things, but those are the strong ones. He used to take me to ride ponies after going to the office, to ride old retired ponies around a dilapidated ring. After the beach, he would take me to a waterslide and he would take me down it because I was too scared to go alone. He drove us out into the wilds of East Texas to visit my great-grandma (Mother Nanny) and my greant-aunt (Ain't Lee) and about thirty other somehow related virtual strangers. He lives, in my mind, as a sort of icon of manhood -- tall, funny, loving, protective, active, responsible, brave. To say, given my tumultuous relationship with my father, that I loved my grandfather is not a clear enough statement. He is more than that to me. Always will be.
One of those things I remember? Before his stroke, he smoked a pipe. My grandmother smoked gross Winston Reds, but my grandfather smoked a lovely pipe. Thanks to CB I Hate Perfume's Smokey Tabacco Accord, I can now trigger those fond memories at will.
I, just generally, love Christopher Brosius's line of perfumes. The line, entitled "CB I Hate Perfume" is different in that it strenuously avoids smelling like what you think perfume smells like. I have samples of about eleven of them already. One of the perfumes, Smokey Tabacco Accord, is now one of my top ten favorites. CB describes it thusly:
I love the scent of smoke. Even the acrid can be made attractive… The smells in this series are the scents of burning: burning wood, burning leaves, burning paper and most especially, burning incense…Smokey Tabacco Accord smells like the memory of my Pawpaw, pre-stroke, and like the sweet lingering smell of southern men and their pipe tabacco. Sweet, a little tangy, it is the perfect combination of acrid and warmth. On the whole a lovely effort.
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