My Dad smoked a pipe.
In my mind, I can see him now packing the tobacco into his pipe and pushing the tobacco down into the pipe bowl. He would reach into his pocket and pull out his silver lighter, flip the lid, spin the flint wheel and press the flame to the tobacco. He's breathe in, puff it out and breathe in and puff it out, until the tobacco started to burn. Smoke would slowly rise from the pipe. In my mind, I can clearly hear here the click of the lighter lid closing as he put it back in his pocket. A sweet, nutty aroma would fill the air.
There was always a can of tobacco sitting on the kitchen cupboard. I can remember the smell so vividly. It brings back to mind the warm hugs and the smell of his flannel shirt steeped with the smell of the tobacco.
After my father passed away, the can of tobacco sat on the cupboard for a long time. Occasionally, I would lift the lid and smell the memories. I miss him.
