The Art of Conversation
“I love talking.” Mum would say, “And he listens better now, especially when he’s got his pipe.” A lifelong non-smoker, Mum had cleaned and refilled that pipe every day since Dad’s death, then placed it unlit on top of the blue carved box that held his ashes. A habit of devotion.
Maria stared at the pipe and box and wondered what she should do with them now. Should she add Mum’s ashes to the box, or scatter them somewhere together?
Maria emptied the pipe into the bin. The tobacco smelled like Mum. She opened the pouch to fill it again.
elmowrites 
Loved the repeating pattern
Thanks! I think it would be hard to break that pattern in the moment.
And it goes on…
Sometimes that’s easier than making a choice to change!
Ah Jen, you bring the family rituals to life here.
Thank you. I’m pleased you think so
And so it goes!
Indeed. Thanks for stopping by!
I wonder if she will wake up one day and realise she’s forgotten to refill that pipe, and then does she stop altogether?
Maybe. Hard to know whether it’s the start of a new habit, or just a stand in until she makes a decision
What a tender story of comfort through ritual – – Loved it.
Thank you!
My pleasure!
Love preserved in tobacco 🙂
Aw, what an unusual way of looking at it, but yes.
She will keep doing it until she no longer needs to. What a lovely circular tale, Jen.
What a wonderful idea, Dale. Thank you
Glad you thought so 🙂
In the words of Funkadelic “Keep on Keeping on” Good stuff, i’m hoping she’d light the pipe thoughtfully to mull this conundrum over…
A lovely tale, perhaps with old habits repeating themselves, for a while at least.
Thanks! I love Dale’s idea that she will continue as long as she needs to.
Dear Jen,
“He listens better now.” Very telling line. Ah family. Well done with pathos and whimsy.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Thank you! I wondered if anyone would pick up on that line – the love and frustration that mingle in so many couples, so it’s sometimes hard to know where one ends and the other begins.
Keeping the memories alive. Nicely done.
My story!
Thanks!
Quite a nice tradition! I wonder how many generations it will see?
Haha, they could have quite a collection of boxes under that pipe by the end!
As I was in my closet this week… I opened a box and out wafted a smell of cigarettes. I instantly thought of Mom… the box contained the deed to her cemetery plot…
They do say smell is the memory sense. How lovely to have that moment of connection.
I wouldn’t call it lovely… Just a reminder if what she was.
A hauntingly beautiful story of enduring love.
Thanks!
Passed on to daughter from mother. I like that … “A habit of devotion.” A beautiful story, Jen!
Thanks Brenda, I think devotion can become a habit (in a good way) so I’m glad you liked that line.
A cleverly written story about the way memory can become ritual. Nice one!
Thank you for your lovely comment
One of those stories it gives you a chill when you read the last line.
Ted! Great to see you here, and thanks for the comment. I hope all’s well with you.
I liked what you wrote, for me tobacco pipes do carry strong memories,
Thanks! I’m glad the memory sense thing worked for you too
This is very well done. Compelling whole story in a few words. Well done!
Thanks!