Father’s Day

 

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.

 

 

Lobster pots

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About maskednative

I live in Ireland, in an extended cottage overlooking Waterford Estuary, privvy to constant changes of light on water, colour and movement, tides and people. I am anglo-Irish and although my initial intention was to live here for a year and a day, I am still here, a blow-in to these shores for the past fifteen years. There have been countless times when I wanted to run back to England with homesickness and relief, but for one reason or another, so far, it has not been possible. I surrender, the soul of Ireland has captured me, allowed a glimpse of the world behind the mask of everyday experiences, bringing forth a mixture of words and pictures from an ordinary everyday life, filled with ordinary everydayness that I offer as a celebration, to the creator of this truly wonderful planet.
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5 Responses to Father’s Day

  1. Tom says:

    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.

    Like

  2. damage says:

    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…

    Like

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