I was weeding through the pictures on my phone, and came across some that I took last time I was visiting my parents. Behold, my paternal grandfather's humidor:
Grandpa Hy would give us the bands from his cigars, and we would wear them like rings on our fingers. I always liked the smell of his cigars. Sheynah meydeleh, he would call me. Pretty girl. He was a generous man, for I was a somewhat plain and rather buck-toothed child. He always did make me special, just for being myself.
Poetry Thursday, courtesy of a friend
1 day ago