Without much thought I go about my
daily routine. Its like autopilot. I can find myself dressed and
walking out the door without even realizing that I picked out a shirt
and put on the right colored socks. I get in my car and it points
itself towards my usual breakfast spots and I take my favorite seat.
All without thought or deliberation. I look at my hands and discover
that I've gotten into something and they need a little attention
before I eat. Its there, on the counter of the bathroom, laying in
wait for me. A pump bottle of Dove Soap.
Instantly overwhelmed with sadness, I
pick up the bottle and I am transported in space and time. To my
mother's house. On a street enveloped in the arms of giant oak
trees that created a tunnel of foliage as you arrived at Mom's
house. The guest bathroom had the pump bottle. Everywhere else it
was bars of dove. The aroma was unmistakable. A hug and a kiss
always came with the fragrance of dove. The pillows and throws that
decorated her home echoed its presence.
Lingering in the moment, I raise the
bottle and drink in the aroma. Mom has been gone for years now. I
still think of her everyday and sometimes, I find myself surprised
by how fresh the loss remains. I stumble upon her from time to time,
in the strangest places. Its her pancake batter, her kind of syrup.
The recipe for my spaghetti is really hers and yes in a bottle of
Dove.
