Hasty Ruminations

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Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Memories

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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 . . .
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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
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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
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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

6 Comments:

  • At 11:21 AM, Blogger Mellie Helen said…

    A sad but touching post, Greg. Although I'm a couple of decades late, please accept my warmest condolensces on the loss of your aunt. How wonderful that you can still catch glimpses of her through her children.

     
  • At 11:32 AM, Blogger Greg Finnegan said…

    Thanks, Mellie. They are GOOD memories! It is so nic to see you on the web again!!

     
  • At 8:31 PM, Blogger brendalove@gmail.com said…

    This was a very special post. She is smiling down on you!

     
  • At 9:35 PM, Blogger kenju said…

    A very nice post, Greg. I am sorry for your loss.

     
  • At 10:50 PM, Blogger Greg Finnegan said…

    Thanks, Brenda and Kenju. Therese was very special. I feel pretty close to her today!

     
  • At 3:41 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    A reader said that comment posting was blocked. So, this is a test. Has anyone else had that problem?

     

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