During this week's trip to the local grocery store, I found myself in front of the newly displayed balsam wreaths and garlands. That fragrance always stops me in my tracks. I leaned in as far as I thought the security cameras would allow, closed my eyes and breathed in. There it was. I was a kid again back in that vacant lot turned wonderland by some clumsy, yet beautiful strings of colored lights. I hurried through the aisles, dodging and darting past the slower lookers, hoping to be the first sibling to find the best choice of the year. Undeterred by snow or freezing temperatures, we'd finally agree on our choice. Dad would assist as the local volunteer for some charitable organization would tie our tree to the roof of the car and shake hands with a happy holidays greeting. Time passes. Things change. I love you Dad. I'll always hold on to those Norman Rockwell memories. My version of aroma therapy. CS
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