On a recent road trip to Manatee Springs State Park while stopping for gas, I smiled to think about my mother.
The service station restroom had a dispenser for soap, which came out green and silky, but had a sharp lemon-peppery smell, just like the bar of Ivory soap in my childhood home.
My five brothers, two sisters, and I had always to wash our hands before dinner, and my mother would inspect all 16 of them, invariably flagging mine which still had dirt under the nails from playing in the prairie. She’d take me to the sink and hold one hand under the tap and rub the slippery bar across the tops of my fingers, a ticklish but warm feeling with her own hand underneath mine.
Local View: A quick whiff, a familiar sound, and Mom is still here
From the column: There are many nose triggers of Mom memories: oxtail soup simmering on the stove, the iron-like smell of melting snow on the back steps where she would help me take off my boots and leggings, Jean Nate perfume, and scorched cotton from her marathon ironing sessions in the basement.
Written By:
David McGrath | ×
On a recent road trip to a state park, while stopping for gas, I suddenly found myself smiling and thinking about my mother. The service station restroom had a dispenser for soap, which came out green and silky but had a sharp lemon-peppery smell just like the bar of Ivory soap in my childhood home.
For your own good.
When I was in 5th grade, I begged and begged and begged my parents to âplease, for the love of everything good and holy let me wear makeup.â They said no. They said no in 6th grade and 7th grade. By 8th grade, they caved and allowed me to wear face powder and lip gloss.
It didnât matter. What I didnât carry in my small Jean Nateâ makeup bag; a hand-me-down from my oldest sister, I could borrow from my friend Jill at school. Jill was so cool. She could wear as much makeup as she could fit into her purse. She could go to concerts on a school night. She could even watch R-rated movies. She could talk to boys on the phone. She also had her driverâs license in 8th grade which meant, A. she was the coolest person I knew in 1987 and B. Thereâs no chance in hell my parents would ever let me hang out with her.
Erika Jayne Selling Her Designer Clothes Online Amid Divorce From Tom Girardi And Embezzlement Allegations
There is major trouble afoot on
we are going to MENTION IT ALL.
Tom and
Erika’srecent accusations of embezzlement and fraud blow them out of the water. So what happens when you are accused of stealing money from plane crash and burn victims? When your assets are frozen amid questionable divorce filings and you are 30 seconds away from forced bankruptcy? Honey, you start selling your shit. And that’s exactly what Erika is doing. Anyone need a gently used Gucci tracksuit with faint notes of Jean Nate and desperation?