Archive for December, 2015

Writen in April 97

Posted in Uncategorized on December 30, 2015 by shebatt

Why is it every year a dumb ass graduates from the halls of the Ivy league.

No brains to speak of but Daddy pays his way.
No thinking part exists but he can run on instincts.

He has his phallic passport to the world outside.

Imagination

Posted in Just thinking with tags , on December 30, 2015 by shebatt

This was written in 2015 at some point but I never finished it. Someday maybe…=

As children we have the ability to dream give us a cardboard box or just a little cubbyhole somewhere in the couch cushions and we lay back and imagine palaces, grand homes or magical places that don’t exist in the real world.

As we grow older our time to dream goes away, our ability to lose ourselves in our imaginations disappears. We start in those happier places as children but when can we point to where we grow old? When do we forget that we dreamed?

I am 50 years old now and I try so hard to think back to those magical time when I was able to let my mind go to places that never existed. I still try to find that place in my heart where only magic exists.

 

 

My Mother’s Voice

Posted in Just thinking on December 4, 2015 by shebatt

When I was a little girl my favorite time of year was Christmas. I am sure this is true with a lot of kids. Now as an adult one of my favorite memories is of my mother at Christmas time.

It is not because she would bake endless batches of Christmas cookies, because in truth she did not. She couldn’t bake a boxed cake with out something going wrong. It was not because of the big Christmas dinner she would make and even if she could not bake she could cook like no one else. She was a great cook. Mom did her best at making Christmas a wonderful thing for all of us, in generic American way. We had no special traditions taught to us from Grandparents from the “Old Country” or anything special like that. Just a standard Red and Green store bought Christmas in our house.

What I remember about my mother is more personal and more comical than that and one of the most cherished things in my memory. Mom’s favorite singer was Frank Sinatra and so, of course, we had his Christmas album. Every year we got that tired old scratch piece of vinyl out and played it along with only a small handful of others she owned. When the song “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” would come on, she would sing along with the background singers.

Well for those of you who never had the chance to know my mom she was more vivacious then all of her kids put together, kind as a person could be and had a zany side that is only reviled by my sister Renee (who I will write about sometime soon). But here is the funny part, Mom could Not sing. She was as tone deaf as a brick and when she would start singing along with the LP she would hit every note but the ones they were singing. I remember hearing her do that for the first time as a very young child. I must have turned every shade of red out of embarrassment for her and I know she saw it in my eyes and on my face. She looked at me and smiled with her own cheeks turning a little pink from being caught singing out of key. She said something about her not being able to sing but enjoying doing it. I was too young to clearly remember what she said, I must have been only about 3 or 4 years old. This early exchange between us did not stop her from doing it year after year still out of key and still straight from her heart.

Now, what feels like at least 5 life times later, whenever I hear that song I am taken back to that moment. The one moment in time when my mother and I shared a smile and a Christmas song. I know for a fact it was not my mother’s favorite but it is one of mine, because of her. Now as a grown woman, whenever I hear that song at Christmas time, I hear my mother’s voice singing along. It is as if a little wormhole in time and space opens up and her voice comes ringing though it. It makes me miss her. It makes me wish I could go back in time and sing with her. It makes me yearn to hear her voice once again, whether its singing out of key, yelling for me to get the phone, or talking to us at the dinner table.

For those of you who have lost your mother at some point in your life I am sure you can understand that there is no sound more beautiful than you own mother’s voice.