Memories

.
A story I read this morning bought back some powerful memories.

A young mother of three was just finishing her evening shower when she heard a huge commotion from the kids' bedrooms. She grabbed a towel, wound it around her wet hair, threw on a robe and ran to the bedroom to confront the rowdy ones. They were all quickly chastened, tucked into bed, and the mom left the room. As she prepared to slam the door, she heard her three-year-old ask the others, "Who was that?"

My aunt Therese was in eighth grade or so when I was born. As the youngest of our "elders", she was the one we turned to for fun and games and, sometimes, a little slack. She was always the preferred babysitter, though she would tickle me until I wept from exhaustion, and frustration, until I got big enough to stop her. She taught me to dance. I can always remember her with her wet hair up in a towel.

Therese died a terrible death as a young mother of three in the '80's from over radiation for cancer of the lymph system. I still miss her a lot, but her three kids miss her even more. They have all grown to be very smart, very successful young adults who inherited her sense of fun, and her impishness.

I haven't spoken here of my love for the theater. I have designed and built the stage sets and scenery for over 60 plays and musicals. I haven't done it for several years now, and I miss that, too. When that story triggered my memories of Therese, I also remembered "Memories", from Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber:

Daylight

See the dew on the sunflower

And a rose that is fading

Roses whither away

Like the sunflower

I yearn to turn my face to the dawn

I am waiting for the day . . .

.

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 streetlamp

Seems to beat a fatalistic warning

Someone mutters

And the streetlamp gutters

And soon it will be morning

.

Daylight

I must wait for the sunrise

I must think of a new life

And I musn'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

The streetlamp dies, another night is over

Another day is dawning

.

Touch me

It's so easy to leave me

All alone with the memory

Of my days in the sun

If you touch me

You'll understand what happiness is

.

Look

A new day has begun