Anyway.
Sometimes, as a special treat, we'd stop at rest stops or parks, as opposed to just a quick pit-stop at a gas station. At these parks, Dad would walk around with we chil'rens and point out unique tree knots and holes. "They're Gnome Homes", he'd tell us.
For a short time, my two younger brothers and I shared a room. Probably long past most kids out-grew them, my dad would tell us stories that he had written: all centering around Alvin, a wizened old wizard who lived at the tip-top of a mountain. The adventure always began the same, with the admonition to close our eyes and keep them closed. He then sprinkled a scented faery dust over each of us, which was inevitably followed by much giggling. I loved that smell, and more, I loved the sound. The sound of the aromatic dust being crushed between his large fingers, magnified a hundred times for the simple reason that my eyes were tightly closed. I think that sound will stay with me for the rest of my life. I can hear it now, can almost smell those herbs ... and still, after all these years, I feel relaxation tickling at the fringes of my consciousness.
He'd then guide us up, up, up into the blue sky; even higher we'd soar, into the lightest and fluffiest of clouds. Once he knew he had our unwavering attention, the adventure would begin ...
We always visited Alvin on horses - Star, Nina and Stardust were their names. Dad would pat our bellies to the rhythm of the horses' hooves. The adventures were never epic, but always captured the imagination.
About a year ago I asked my dad what the faery dust actually was. It was a small vial of crushed herbs (Chamomile, Rosemary) and ... sparkles. Where had he found such a thing? "Oh, at a local mystical shoppe", was his nonchalant answer.
My father taught me about innocence, about childlike wonder, about making the mundane - magical.
P.S.
There's nothing better than listening to The King's Singers when you're hurtling down the highway for long distances.
