16th June 2013
Three brothers, fishermen and best friends, sharing their lives and work, were suddenly taken from their families. Drowned, so close to home.
We shared the devastation of this tragedy with the community of this and other villages, towns, and beyond. Mourned the loss of three brothers, laid to rest, on the eve of Father’s Day.
May the souls of three brothers, rest in peace, and God give comfort to their families.
It is evening now. I am in a local hotel restaurant overlooking the sea, with my husband and some friends. Momentarily, I am aware of a scent. Aromatic? Yes, I think I know what it is. Most certainly it is pipe tobacco, but no-one here is smoking. Smoking is banned, in all public places, and come to think of it, I haven’t seen anyone smoking a pipe in years, in public or in private, but there it is again.
No explanation. My body responds to the familiar scent with a sense of well-being, a relaxed contentment.
My own Father has been gone from this world a long time, but it is not until this morning that I suddenly remember, he used to smoke a pipe.
Masked Native 
The whiff of a pipe … my grandfather, and, for many years, me. I can still smell my grandpa Cummins’ pipe. Mine languish among my books.
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Fond memories……
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wow, i relate to this…my Grandfather used to smoke a pipe on Christmas eve for as long as I could remember…now almost 10 years after his passing every time I smell a pipe it takes me back to every Christmas eve I remember spending with him…
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Happy memories for you….
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indeed, the happiest!
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