When I was growing up, we visited my grandparents almost every weekend. I guess that is why my earliest memories always seem to include them.
My poor grandfather didn’t get married until he was 40 and so by the time I came along his nerves were long shot to pieces. A little boy running up and down the stairs drove him to distraction and apparently to an early grave at the tender age of 95.
Now that little boy running up and down the stairs has, himself turned into a grandfather. Although Ol’ Dutch is at a somewhat advanced age, according to Miss Trixie, I am the one usually leading the charge with my grand daughters and, on any day that can include eating candy, being loud and getting in trouble. Of course their Dad, Bubs, wonders who this old man is. Bubs was used to the version of Ol’ Dutch that went around cracking the whip on Bubs and saying “no, you can’t do that” a lot. The granddaughters get a much more permissive Dutch.
With old age comes the creaks and pains of a body wearing out like an automobile. Once sleek and new and racing down the road it now sits in disrepair smelling of musty seats and old french fries long lost in the cracks.
Ol’ Dutch worked for the railroad and in that career was subjected to all manner of physical strains and stresses and those injuries and motions have left me with pains now surfacing like a beached whale.
Just like a nice Sunday afternoon in Maine is ruined by the odiferous landing of a dead Moby Dick on the beach, sudden body pains out of nowhere arrive seemingly on a daily basis.
Miss Trixie bought some miracle salve in Mexico when we were there last and I was reluctant to pay for it as I was “just fine” at the moment. But last week my hand started to hurt and on the pain chart was probably on par with giving birth. It was bad.
Finding the ointment Ol’ Dutch applied a small amount to his hand and found instant relief. Now for those of you wanting to know what this miracle healing balm is, I can reveal that for a price just like any other healing practitioner.
All I know is that it works.
Lying in bed later however all my past came rushing back to me like a bad movie and I realized that I have come full circle and smell just like my grandmother who lathered herself in Icy Hot and Vicks each night before bedtime.
I do not know when she started this ritual. Perhaps it was before she and grandpa conceived any children or maybe it was because Grandpa had been exposed to Mustard Gas in France during WWI and had developed an affinity to all things smelly?
Honey and peanut butter, hard toast, fudge fresh from the pan, cedar closets and Estee Lauder perfume all take me back to those days with my grandparents and now I even smell like her after a liberal dosing of joint medicine.
Last weekend my granddaughters came to stay on the farm with us. That meant a lot of stomping around in boots outside, kicking cow pies, homemade baking, early morning pancakes and generally making a mess inside and out. I don’t know what of those memories will stick with them until they are grandparents, themselves. Whatever it is, I hope that they, too, will remember that the best part of the grandparent-grandchild relationship is you get to say “yes” a lot more, even if it means holding your nose.

Kevin Kirkpatrick and his Yorkie, Cooper, fish, hunt, ATV or hike daily. His email is [email protected]. Additional news can be found at www.troutrepublic.com or on Twitter at TroutRepublic.