“Burnt out ends of smokey days- Lorain-Memory

April 22, 2014 at 12:52 pm Leave a comment

memo

I have become a hoarder of memories………..

Memory –
Songwriters
T.s. Eliot;Andrew Lloyd Webber;Trevor Nunn

I sang that particular number, once a upon a time, in my days of theatre. I always identified with the lyrics – even more so now that my son has become a fading memory to the majority . The lines in bold – hold for me – a meaning of my life as morning dawns.

Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan

Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember
The time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again

Every street lamp
Seems to beat a fatalistic warning
Someone mutters and the street lamp flutters
And soon it will be morning

Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn’t give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin

Burnt out ends of smoky days
The stale cold smell of morning
A street lamp dies, another night is over
Another day is dawning

Touch me
It’s so easy to leave me
All alone with my memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me
You’ll understand what happiness is
Look, a new day has begun

Some times I wish I had selective Alzheimer’s so that certain people and the cruelty of those days are lost.

lombardivyka clan Lombardi, Vyka Clan …..a wedding of woe…

Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen, I bury them, dismiss them in one of the smaller attics of my mind but every so often they tumble out bringing with them the dust of despair and disbelief.
Kencanscen

As my own memories have become more about my life today, I have discovered I have an affinity with others and how precious their memories are and were.

https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2014/04/13/lorain-history-changes-kicked-to-the-landfill/

How I wish I could ask my grandmothers more about the stories they used to tell, how I wished I had paid more attention , how I wished I had asked about their mothers, fathers and grandmothers as they “remembered.

mybookI did have my mum write her memories down- but mum being mum wouldn’t write about the scandals of the day and to me the “more interesting” memories of “naughty stuff”. She has stored those way back in her attic memory and refuses to let me in…..

To Be continued …………….

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Entry filed under: Chris Ritchey, grief, hell is other people, Love, Mothers, weddings and funerals. Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Kicked to the curb and to the landfill of life The Bliss of a Wedding- Not for me Ritchey/ Murphy

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