STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

Special Treat ??“ Carol Roach 

July 13, 2005 

The Old Book

Holding the old book open in the center I bring it to my face and inhale deeply Bringing me into my center And my aching history And my celebratory history All matched together

Julie Jordan Scott

A Single White Sock

Carol Roach

When I looked around my apartment, I couldn't think of a thing to pick up and smell, until I opened the dryer. I retrieved the first piece of clothing available to me. It was my son's sock.

When I smell my son's tube sock, I smell home and family. I smell the love of a mother towards her son. I smell the journey that we have made since before my son??™s existence.

I smell the wonderful anticipation of his birth; nine full months waiting for this miracle to occur. The days were oh so long; was it ever going to end?

When I smell that fresh clean sock, I smell the beauty and wonderment of when my baby finally graced this world. I examined his perfect fingers and toes; such tiny hands and feet. How could I fathom that this tiny foot would one day wear the huge sock I grasp in my hand at this moment in time? How could I imagine that one day that foot would be much bigger than my own?

I suck in the scent permeating from the sock and I smell protectiveness. I was the mother. I was the protector of this tiny child. I guarded him with the fierce courage of a lioness towards her cub and I knew that I would die for him if I had to.

I imbibe the fragrance and I remember the smells of baby powder, as I pampered his tiny body after every bath.

My mind wanders to the smell of fear and anticipation as my baby left my side for his first day of school. Simultaneously, I remember the smell of compassion and support. I reassured him Mommy would be waiting for him outside his classroom door when his day ended. He would come home to the safe little world he knew and needed so badly.

I remember the smell of pride as I watched my son excel in sports. Today he still plays basketball on occasion. But I also smell the disappointment when he could not make the high grades in school.

I smell the highs and lows of his life as he grew to be a man. I smell the love and pride he too felt when his son was born. I smell both the understanding and the reflection I had when we shared his precious moment, the moment of his son??™s, my grandson's birth.

I take one last sniff of his tube sock and I smell the bounce fabric softener, so fresh and clean. It brings me back to a time long ago when I would bring in the clothes straight off the clothes line, how I loved that smell; fresh, clean, inviting, tempting and sexual. Though at the time, my young mind could not understand that. But most of all I remember the smell of love.

I look back with fond memories on the days of my youth when I grew up with my grandmother. Those were times I knew I was truly loved.

Fast forward to the present and I smell the love of my son and grandson. And I rejoice in the circle of life and the circle of love.

Carol Roach

winterose@videotron.ca

A Native of Montreal, Quebec, Carol is a graduate of Concordia, and McGill University.  She holds a bachelor in psychology and a masters in counselling psychology.  Carol Roach is a published writer and newsletter editor.  You can purchase her book: Picking up the Pieces: A Woman's Journey at www.publishamerica.com, or www.amazon.com.  You can also go to your local bookstore and order it there as well.  Carol has now finished her second novel and currently looking for a publisher. 

If you are interested in other stories feel free to join her newsletter: Storytime Tapestry at: http://subs.zinester.com/98907 , or email her directly at winterose@videotron.ca and she will be glad to accommodate you.  Carol enjoys email and responds to every inquiry.