I was thinking today as I lounged around my empty house just how quiet everything was. And I sorta closed my eyes, and had a daydream.
It was back to long ago, when I and my sister lived with my Mother. I remember how Sunday afternoons normally went. And what I remember most are the sounds.
The sounds of her walking around the house, working, cleaning. Water running in the sink. The sound of her preparing dinner. The sounds of washing dishes, opening the fridge, getting out cooking implements. The gentle murmur of the fridge and furnace running.
The sounds of the cats, roaming around, purring, meowing. The sounds of her picking up her book and sitting in her favorite chair in the kitchen. The coffee maker perculating. And so forth.
The memory of these sounds were often coupled by the memory of me curled up on the couch, reading a good book, cat at my feet. The smell of a great roast, or beef stew, or brisket. No cares at all for me, just reading and existing until dinner. I remember it best in the Winter or Fall, when it would be a blustery, chilling day, and I could hear the wind howl outside, while inside my Mom, sister, and I were safe and warm.
And I opened my eyes, looked around my empty and still house, and wondered why I had to fall from heaven.
Funny you should mention this. On ATC the other day they interviewed a German chap who has put together a CD of the sounds you would have if there were someone else living with you. Rustling newspaper, someone unpacking the groceries, coffee pot, etc.
Not available yet in a US version, but the German one should sound similar.
I remember too… it was always warm, and I could pass the time with a book - guilt free. Mom making dinner. The dog - Willie was his name - I loved that dog.
Watching Little House on the Prairie on Sunday nights, me & Dad teasing Mom because she was crying.
Suddenly living alone with the kids seems so empty. We had McDonalds for supper. I’ll never be half the mother my Mom was.
God Anth, this is the saddest thing I ever read. You managed to catpure in a few lines the profound loneliness of our generation. Well done.
kelli - I remember watching Little House on the Prairie as well with the family.
And I too will never be half the mother my Mom was, as you said.
I regret so much that I did not appreciate at the time how much like heaven it was to just be safe, warm, fed, and loved. I was too concerned with wanting to leave home, and chafing with the righteous indignation of adolescence.
I wrote this just as I said. After my daydream, I felt like I had to put the feelings into words immediately, or they would be lost again. And then when I read what I wrote, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss so great I almost asked that this thread be deleted. But I don’t want to forget it, so it will stay.
My life is so lonely, and quiet, and dull - a hell, in contrast to the heaven of which I wrote.
The strange thing is, I’m living with my parents again, and none of the sounds are the same.
Weekends used to be for cleaning the house, and my mom would always put on music while we did our chores. I have this wonderful kinesthetic memory of the smell of the breeze through the open window, Mr. Clean, and warm towels from those days.
When I lived with a roommate in Dallas, I would clean Sunday mornings and put on Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. My former roomie mentioned recently that she missed waking up to the sound of that, knowing that I had washed the dishes and made orange danishes.
Nowadays, though, the cleaning is hurried and compulsive. We never play music because my dad doesn’t like it (where was he back then that he didn’t object?).
Every now and then, I catch just a little bit of that old world. I keep my bedroom window open all the time, so I can smell the breeze coming in.
Funny - I went through something similar yesterday though I was actually at my parent’s place at the time. I’d made the trip to visit for Father’s Day yesterday (yes it’s a different day in Australia) and I found myself alone for awhile and closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
For a few minutes I could smell the days of old again. I could hear the mad rushes and boisterous voices of my five siblings - several of whom have sequestered themselves away in recent times. I guess things have to change but for a moment I was in a place where even the negatives and arguments were perfect.
I was broken from my revery by the return of my parents, both of whom have started to blossom again in recent times. With only one bird left in the roost (and he being somewhat self-dependant) they’ve finally found some time for themselves again after thirty years of having to look after at least one of us kids. And that makes me happy too.
Even ambivalence can be wonderfully bittersweet.
{{{{anth}}}}
Never forget these feelings Anthracite. Cling onto them as if they were your most precious commodity for indeed that’s what they can be. It’s sad and hard but it’s part of you and it helps you to become what you want to be.
I live so far away from my family now… so far away from friends… so alone. Its been 3 1/2 years since I moved and I have no relation with the person I moved away for now. Sometimes I feel so alone and isolated. And you post made me cry.
When I came home from work, no matter what the time, I could always count on having a plate of food ready to eat. I miss her cooking. I miss us teasing each other. I miss the way she smelled. I miss the way her voice sounded. I miss ** her **.
… as she plops down on that crowded couch while drying dishwater soaked hands off on a kitchen towel…
I really miss just hanging over the couch/bed/stuffed chair while I read something that captures my imagination. I loved reading this particular thread [albeit on the computer upstairs in the loft]. It brings back memories.
Then I realized that I am now on the other side of this equation: I fix dinner, wash the dishes, clean the kitchen, clean the house, wash/dry/iron/fold and put away the laundry… etcetcetc. IRL, I either do the chore or I am commander of an army of preteens who hate doing this stuff and would never volunteer BECAUSE they would much rather be hanging over the couch/bed/stuffed chair while reading something that captures their imagination …
You know, kiffa, this is a good point. I think this is something that all the moms on the board can stop and think about when they are feeling overworked and underappreciated. Moms can take a little bit of solace knowing that they are creating lasting, wonderful memories for their children.
I miss the Sunday afternoons when my dad was listening to the Dodgers game. The sound of the game on the radio, and Vin Scully’s (the announcer) voice still bring back all those memories of my youth.
I miss seeing my dad lay out on the front lawn (he did this a lot, he was a weird man) and stare up at the sky and relax for hours.
I miss those days in the summer, when my sisters and I would all lounge on our beds, and read read read.
I miss Christmastime, when we’d wake up in the morning to some Christmas music my dad would play. (He had the best Christmas music collection.)
My mom is still with us, but my dad has been gone for over 10 years. I miss him so.
Thanks for starting this thread, Anthracite. <sniff>
When I was up at my mom’s new place two weeks ago with both sides of the Olentzero family for the wedding, there was a point where I was sitting with one nephew and my niece on the deck. It was a late New England evening, cool and quiet, the sky dark above but the band of sunlight on the horizon still lighting everything.
It reminded me of the evenings I spent at my grandfather’s house in Western Mass as a young boy - every summer until I was 15 I spent a week down there. That’s the heaven I remember - no school, no dealing with the parents, just a quiet summer evening with maybe a bowl of cherry ice cream and the crickets and fireflies putting on a show, as my grandfather sat, newspaper in his lap since it was now getting too dark to read, looking out into the woods and lost in thought, as I watched it all and wished it would never end, that I’d never have to go back to home and school, as the world and the people I loved faded into invisibility.
I miss my mother.