Hardware

When I was growing up, my dad had a tendency to disappear on the weekends.  We'd hear him say he was making a quick trip to the hardware store as we watched the back of his head go out the door.  Hours later, we were left wondering what happened to him.  Occasionally, I got to tag along on his adventures.  I'd hop in the front seat of his two-door Acura as he started the car.  NPR began playing through the speakers, but my dad quickly switched it off.  He has always been one for conversation.  We'd drive toward the hardware store, discussing various topics from tennis players to our next vacation spot.  Sometimes, we just rode in silence.

We didn't always go to the same store.  Some days it was Lowe's, other days we'd go to Ace hardware or Home Depot.  Sometimes we'd hit every hardware store in a 50 mile radius of our house.  It's easy to see why my dad would disappear for so long.  The name on the front of the store isn't important, it's the smell of the hardware store I remember.  I don't know how to describe it.  Maybe it's the smell of the cold concrete floor or the piles of lumber stacked to the ceiling.  To this day, I find myself pausing at the entrance to Lowe's, just for a second; I draw in a deep, slow breath, allowing the nostalgia to wash over me.  For a moment, I'm with my dad again, disappearing for hours on a Saturday afternoon.

I'm linking this post with Two Bear Farm's Memory Lane Friday