Launching into this New Year
So it’s already Jan 14, how did that happen? I was in Hobart, Tasmania for New Year’s Eve, performing on the waterfront location of a Gourmet Food and Wine Festival, staying in a five star apartment with king-sized bed. Tough gig yes, but someone had to do it. Now I’m back home, and thinking about my Dad, remembering how he always liked to wish me Happy New Year, with a certain happy lilt in his voice. That’s one of the hardest things about losing someone you love I reckon: not hearing their voice again. Or smelling them. That particular smell we all have, undisguised by deodorants or cologne, cigarettes, food, or wine. My Dad used to smell of all of those things sometimes, with his tickly moustache and almost bald head, fringed by white hair. One of my favourite smells in this world is my son’s hair (closely followed by horse sweat and baking cake); he rang me at 12.01 in Hobart to wish me Happy New Year, bless him. If only Dad could have called me too.
The other thing I personally find most evocative about those we love is their handwriting. I remember watching Grandma’s getting more spidery as she aged, and can see that change now in my Mum’s. I’ve enjoyed watching my son’s scribble mature (he’s 12.5), and dearly remember my first real boyfriend’s incredibly neat lettering in my first real love letter. I myself have about 5 different scrawls, depending on demand. And this week, I am going to open The Damn Box, and look at Dad’s beautiful curly text…