Old Spice, Stories Matter

Can the memory of a scent or fragrance tell a story? Do stories matter? Yes and Yes are my answers, both from personal experience and hearing the stories that matter from many others on this journey of life. What was your first thought when you read the title to this blog? Can you smell the fragrance just by reading about it? What memories does that scent bring to your mind that hold a story that matters to you and others?

My thoughts and prayers this morning had me asking “God, what do you want me to write about”? The answer seemed to be clear, “write your story”. Okay then, here I go. Thank you for reading my story today, I hope you will be encouraged and discover ways to share your own story that matters to you and others.

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And so where do I begin? How do I choose a story from so many memories and years of life lived? Anyone who has spent time with me knows I am very verbal, yup talk a lot! And I could literally talk for hours about various memories from my life. But today I had a plan to focus and share about just one. And so, in my mind, I turned back the hands of the clock, flipped through pages on the calendar, scanned through some of the gazillion pictures, recalled the sounds and voices from some who have passed and others still present. And then out of the countless breathes I have taken, and smells that have come and gone, like those of a charred campfire, or the sweet fragrance worn by a loved one, I catch a most memorable scent from my memory banks. That distinct Old Spice fragrance. I smile and breathe in as if the fragrance were in my space at the time. And at once my story begins to unfold.

Old Spice, the cologne of many men through the years is a distinct fragrance that is cataloged in my memory along with my Dad. Today even though I am not actually smelling Old Spice, just the memory of that spicy fragrance and I recall my dad‘s voice, feel the touch of his worn hands that held mine in his during his last days. I can hear his down home, Alabama accent, and see his clear blue, smiling eyes. And the story that matters to me begins.

My Dad taught me to play his guitar which was much bigger on my lap than his and needed a bit of propping up, but I was determined to play along with him. He also introduced me to and made sure I learned to play instruments from his musical family. The rhythm section that included sticks striking a box, barrel or anything non-breakable, spoons of various sizes on my knee, and air blown over a jug on my chin. My favorite non singing instrument was by far humming out a tune on a wax paper covered comb and the tickle that had me laughing and doing my best to keep my mouth closed on this fine instrument. These music sessions were knee slapping good times. Some favorite hymns, old folk tunes about crawdads, and Father Abraham brought us all together. Those early memories of my Dad and music fill my senses now thanks to a memory whiff of Old Spice. Even though his presence is gone since his passing from cancer in 1995, the fond memories of music with him are cherished and not forgotten. Clearly a story that matters to me and one that continued on later in my life.

When he was finishing his journey here on earth, a short one of just a few weeks after his diagnosis, he asked me to sing for him. And sing I did, all of his favorite hymns, and songs we enjoyed growing up, along with a few songs that I had shared in recent years at church and events. He told me that only the angels in heaven would sing any better than I. Not true, but to him, I was the only one he wanted to hear sing to him at this time in his life. The only problem was that my voice could not keep up with his desire to hear his daughter sing continuously. With the help of our music pastor we quickly recorded many songs for him and assembled a cassette tape (before CDs) that he could listen to when I was not at his side. He continued to listen to his personal collection of songs from me until he left this world and entered heaven. Years later in honor of my Dad, I recorded “Hope For The Journey ~ A Gentle Collection of Familiar Hymns and Scripture Readings to Encourage and Provide Hope Along Life’s Journey” (free links on my Resource Page). This CD provided a way for me to be at the bedside singing to others when I could not physically be there. Singing with my Dad so many years ago and through the years was part of my continued story that matters.

I would be amiss if I did not mention that there are many difficult and sad experiences through my life that included my Dad. But today I choose to allow the scent of old spice help me in recalling the joy, laughter, warmth and deep love of my dad and music. And how his influence of music and time with me was a story that mattered then and continues to even now.

A disappointing part of this story is how I missed an opportunity that left me sad and angry at myself at the time. It was a warm comfortable day as my Dad was nearing the end of his journey. We were sitting in his backyard next to his old car, surrounded by many of his construction trade tools and projects that he had been working on just months before but now sat still never to be held in his hands or worked on by him again. He was not doing well, but asked for his 12 string guitar and the stack of yellow legal pads that contained all of his songs written out with chords. We sat and I listened to him play and sang along, his voice weaker than in years past. Yet he still had that twinkle in his eye and enjoyed playing and singing. He stopped playing, stating that was enough and handed me his yellow note pads, asking me to take his music home with me, I answered, there’s plenty of time for that later, we will sing and play again next time. Of course I was thinking that we would certainly enjoy music again on another day. Well, that day never came as he was soon gone and all of his belongings that were so near and dear to me were gone as well. Without going into details, suffice it to say someone cleared out most of his belongings and personal effects while he was dying in the nursing home before I had a chance to retrieve his hand written lyrics and notes. So many years of compilations, playing and singing, now left to my short memory. However I have a few pictures, one of which was the day he proudly played and sang at the state fair where he no doubt was wearing Old Spice along with his country attire and 12 string guitar.

I learned a valuable lesson that day that I did not take my Dad’s yellow note pads as he asked. To not take for granted or disregard when someone is nearing the end of their life, asking or requesting something of you. That I would do my best to stop and listen. And not think about my days ahead but instead just be there in that moment.

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One of those opportunities came for me years later. Just days before my sweet husband, Ken left this world. He was talking in jumbled up words, not making sense, talking to people only he could see. He called to me in his very soft, hard to hear voice and said clearly. “I am dying Pati” to which I wanted to say no we’ve got plenty of time. And as much as I did not want to face him dying, I could not disregard that moment with him. Pulling down the side rail I leaned in close to Ken, telling him that I could not hear him very well, but that I was there. He began to speak in a crackly, quiet voice that was nearly audible , suddenly his words were clear and concise, slightly louder and coherent, with determination and looking into my eyes he spoke these most valuable words to me. Not at all what I had heard in days before from a man succumbing to aggressive brain cancer. I reached for the notepad on his side table and quickly wrote all he was saying to me.

“Trust in Him. He is doing things. He will take care of you. We need to trust God.
Not everything makes sense but God has a plan for us. “
Ken Rader, 3.5.2021

I believe those words came directly from my father in heaven, through my husband, to remind me that, even though I was losing the love of my life here on earth, my best friend and husband, That I would never be alone, and that God would be caring for me, no matter what came my way.

And where would I be without God? Certainly not sharing with you today. He has orchestrated so many steps throughout my life and continues to bless me in more ways than I can count. Best decision I ever made was to give my life to Jesus. When my own life is over here on this earth, I hope that my story will have encouraged others and pointed them to truth and hope in Jesus Christ.

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I am reminded today that memories, thoughts and stories may often come by way of a season, word spoken, song heard, or a fragrance. The scent of Old Spice often reminds me of my Dad, fond memories that linger long after the scent has vanished. Those memories are part of my life story, that although may contain regrets and disappointments, also hold valuable lessons and miracles too. Today my writing took me down a path from praying for what to write, to recalling memories from a fragrance, to lessons learned and opportunities, and ultimately a chance to listen and enjoy a blessing that might have otherwise been missed. I am learning that my life and journey is a continuing story that matters, maybe just to me or perhaps to others at times. My Dad’s story, my husband Ken’s story, your story matters. Thank you for sharing my story today.

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I pray that you may breathe in the fragrance of memories past and have the opportunity to share your own stories with others. Remember that ‘your stories matter’.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him,
who have been called according to his purpose.”
Romans 8:28

God bless you my friend.
Pati