My father’s signature aroma of Dial soap and English Leather cologne enveloped his blue and black plaid nightshirt, which I could not part with as we packed up most of his belongings. I needed to smell his very essence, feeling as if our souls were connecting through the scent, a way to hold on to him after death. How sad, then, that over these fourteen years since he has been gone, the smell has slowly faded and then vanished, yet I still cannot part with his nightshirt, which hangs next to my own robe… read more >
Your Mom Loves My Van
If you’ve got a van and the right attitude, the world is your oyster and everyone’s mom secretly wants a ride Your Mom Loves My
