Fl4sh
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Hot wheel tracks memory .
With a scrunched up nose and red lipstick she bares the same look. Geniece without meaning to gave the look my mom used to. It seems now more than ever I have my mom in my mind. Especially around this time of year. We shared the same birthday May 12th. She used to say all the time "I know you and everything you do" after all,you were born on my birthday." which she never let me forget especially since I ruined her dinner they were going to dinner the night I was born. It was many of my moms sayings that wake up menories of her and that longing to see her again. I have no regrets I know in my heart that everything she needed to know or she needed to hear from me she did. Besides she knew me, I was born on her birthday. Some of moms famous lines, "you got to learn to live like the Walton's" or I'm just saying" and a personal favorite of mine "I neeever did that to you kids". Rigggght mom, you never spanked us or gave the pinch behind the leg which I recall I got the most, out of everyone. Go figure. She must have seen my future or known then. The memories start to pour into my brain and linger like a syrup. A memory of walking into the house and and seeing her sitting at the table with her famous cup of cold black coffee, cup stained at the rim with her famous red lipstick, and, an ashtray with a cigarette also lipstick stained with many of its burned out brethren filling the bottom. The "cigarette" one always burning slowly into it's eventual conclusion, like the lives we lead. Even now as I walk inside my own place I always inhale deeply as if I am going to smell that scent, her scent, of the cold coffee and burning cigarette. It's that way with memories a certain smell can trigger a memory. Mom always dressed in black like Johnny Cash. We would always joke and say mom, "you dress like your in the mafia", all black with her shades on. But, I can remember when my mom would get all gussied up make up and all. Hair done on their way to go out drinking with my aunt and uncle. My moms image goes from that party look to her older self sitting at the table. In my mind I hear " libbyland" her nickname for me when I was small, it brings a wave of warm secure feelings hearing that. My attention shifts to a memory of me at grandmas wrapped up in her sweater she smells of stale perfume and what I call grandmas scent its my own special get out of insanity alive card so it's secret. Now just as quick a feeling of guilt creeps in remembering how I bugged, that " Im bored" and want to go home. "When are we leaving"? Never realizing it was special, every moment of it was. But you have so many moments ahead. You carelessly discard them like useless words. It was a time of my moms with her mom. I wish I remembered the conversations I can still see, smell, feel, and if I try hard and don't lose focus can make the conversation or rather my version of what I think they said or wanted them to be saying. After a seemingly brutally long visit, my head whips around as I hear the faithful, "Bah" and little giggle my grandma did, I loved it when she did that. Which meant with a clap of her hands and stomp of her feet she would get from the chair, hug and kiss us bye walk us to the door. Along waddled Gee-Gee her 1,000 year old chihuahua for which we called her "Gee-Gee" grandma. Gee-gee would later become Pepe another chihuahua black with a white diamond neck spot. her loyal footstools. Side note: her dogs would lay at her feet so she could put her feet up on their backs. She had a special way with animals and plants. A long lost ancient soul full of old knowledge that my mom wasn't tuned into. We are at the door now, I'm in the front yard still griping "I'm bored" . Apparently, not that bored as I find something to play with which allows me to endure another 20 min conversation taking place. We then move outside to the gate mom at the back of car grandma still talking and waving pulling weeds watering plants I'm siting in the front seat of the blazer huffing and sighing grandma still lovingly smiling at me, mom frustrated. grandma never showed any sign of hurt feelings for my actions or attitude which only reaffirms my belief she is a saint. Hopefully on the other side she still loves that much ad will speak on my behalf when the time cones. so, there I am, I open every compartment which I've already done and memorized on other trips to grandmas. As I write laughing at myself a feeling of shame and guilt creeps in and I think who was I to take that time for granted. As adults we try to recreate that sense of security we felt as kids. My mom and grandmas time was limited as mine and my moms was . Same as my time with my kids will be limited and suddenly I wonder if the universe penalizes you for cutting in on their time. I hope not but I know now the answer is a heart aching, Yes! For my infractions of interrupting, of which, there were many. My time with mom was interrupted with an equally shameful display of deserving actions. Karma is a bitch. Huh, who knew? Another story though, getting back. With a hop up to her seat into the cockpit of the orange blazer and adjusting the pillow she sits on to elevate herself to be able to see out of the windshield, turn of the key, ignition on, sounds of the transmission gears engaging, then we are off. I remember though a well developed ritual of mine of always looking back to see grandma wave one last time over her fence. A funny ritual of already missing her but I was in such a hurry to leave. I feel that this is a capital offense in my heart and wish it back. Now, as I did then I would view the same scene, the narrow alleyway drive and the houses, yards, cars seemed never changed. Sometimes to kick start a memory I will drive back through there and down that path. It looks the same like nothing has ever really changed, it has that old world feel. We learn too late that there is no going back So, of course, grandma isn't there and her house is completely different the only one to have changed over time. Was I that bad to deserve this...?. Man, I was a brat. Laughing guiltily I think next time I will get it right. We turn from the alleyway and head for the same route that took us home every time. I memorized the path and can remember the details fresh, 30 min to get home on roads with no traffic, no using the freeway as mom hated and rarely drove on any. I can kick and hate myself for being a brat wasting that precious time then. As a suffocating sense of shame comes on remembering how we all, slowly but surely stopped going to visit altogether unless we were told to. Imagine that, having to be told to visit or see that person who loves you unconditionally and makes you feel secure. But, "it's boring", how dumb we are. We won't know what we miss till later. Mind you this is all before electronics my grandma still had a rotary phone or later push button. No cable but always on Spanish station. It was a time when we were outside kids or people of a different time. Now everyone is wired to the gills with electronic devices to stay in touch and be available. I see it as regression we have tried to simplify things that we have. in our haste to simplify we've made ourselves more distant.
Things were easier then you talked or interacted. Toys were simple too there were no video games we had Hot-wheels that came with orange tracks. Which was my moms favorite weapon of choice to spank with. A folded Hot-wheel track orange with a crease where she folded it. I can feel the sting on my leg as she knew to hit bare skin and not your butt. Plastic has a distinct smell when it gets warm or heated. I can smell the warm plastic orange Hot-wheel track as she pulls the one she has out of her purse to show off her weapon of choice to me. She has it with her always or always within reach like the one in the middle compartment of blazer which coincidentally is orange also. I don't know if this was on purpose . Hmmmm. I think not. She also kept one on top of the refrigerator in a Tupperware bowl a light avocado green Tupperware bowl. Man, my mom had crazy energy back then. Of course being of like mind and heart we were both equally stubborn. Where did she go? That woman who would grab our toy and gives us or me a good beating at he drop of a hat. I try to remember when she lost that zing but I can't or just don't want to see it. But it happened. I being the fourth child spoiled and stubborn full of energy or what probably today would get me put on Ritalin. Hyper-hyper but now with my little brother growing up I waited impatiently and eager to witness violence that was not directed at me. I wanted to see his turn at the end of the track. But no hope, she lost that fire by then and times were now different hitting your kids was no longer welcomed. I miss those days and when my generation which is the last to be spanked talk and relate to that time it's hard to explain the feelings to the younger. I really think they missed out. Here is the irony, as we had kids my mom took on a new approach spoil them rotten. When we raise our voices she gets hurt and says "I neveeer did that with you kids" . Emphasis on the never. Ummmm sorry mom you said what ? No, you just used to beat us with our toys you bought us to play with. We stopped asking for Hot-wheel stuff when were kids but lo and behold we would always get a Hot-wheel gift on our birthdays or Christmas
Memories have a way of becoming pathways to sainthood. Before I get out of control or my heart gets in the way of what was true and what I want to be true. I will state for the record that my mom was no saint but she was the best mom "she" knew how to be. Maybe she will get it right the next time around. It is my belief we get recycled when we die to relive our lives again until we get it right. Just like the movie groundhog day with bil Murray and the gorgeous Andy McDowell. A guy relives the same day over and over sort of his penance. But he gets it right in the end. Just like our lives. Okay I'm no guru or crackpot religious fanatic. I just think we keep going Back and reliving the same lives until you make the right choices those choices that you know are the life changing choices when they come up. You know you get it right when the choice you pick just feels right like the universe makes sense and you are truly happy when you have that feeling that is the right choice hopefully we get to keep those in our do overs. if, not what a waste it could take an eternity to get it right. Just like Groundhog day. Why can't we have a mulligan when we really know we have strayed? Or a reset button? I digress, always wanted to say that. But, on to the next memory. In the end that is all we have is our memories and I do believe " our memories are the path to immortality" that is the secret ...... Shhhhh! , like immortals in stories. Stories are what keep people alive and life lives in the details the little things in life. . Little things added up, equal your time or a full life. Long or short . Length of time is just a matter of perspective.
The great big universe is after all, just a collection of many little things and they are all that matter in the end. The little things in life like, an orange Hot-wheel track.
With a scrunched up nose and red lipstick she bares the same look. Geniece without meaning to gave the look my mom used to. It seems now more than ever I have my mom in my mind. Especially around this time of year. We shared the same birthday May 12th. She used to say all the time "I know you and everything you do" after all,you were born on my birthday." which she never let me forget especially since I ruined her dinner they were going to dinner the night I was born. It was many of my moms sayings that wake up menories of her and that longing to see her again. I have no regrets I know in my heart that everything she needed to know or she needed to hear from me she did. Besides she knew me, I was born on her birthday. Some of moms famous lines, "you got to learn to live like the Walton's" or I'm just saying" and a personal favorite of mine "I neeever did that to you kids". Rigggght mom, you never spanked us or gave the pinch behind the leg which I recall I got the most, out of everyone. Go figure. She must have seen my future or known then. The memories start to pour into my brain and linger like a syrup. A memory of walking into the house and and seeing her sitting at the table with her famous cup of cold black coffee, cup stained at the rim with her famous red lipstick, and, an ashtray with a cigarette also lipstick stained with many of its burned out brethren filling the bottom. The "cigarette" one always burning slowly into it's eventual conclusion, like the lives we lead. Even now as I walk inside my own place I always inhale deeply as if I am going to smell that scent, her scent, of the cold coffee and burning cigarette. It's that way with memories a certain smell can trigger a memory. Mom always dressed in black like Johnny Cash. We would always joke and say mom, "you dress like your in the mafia", all black with her shades on. But, I can remember when my mom would get all gussied up make up and all. Hair done on their way to go out drinking with my aunt and uncle. My moms image goes from that party look to her older self sitting at the table. In my mind I hear " libbyland" her nickname for me when I was small, it brings a wave of warm secure feelings hearing that. My attention shifts to a memory of me at grandmas wrapped up in her sweater she smells of stale perfume and what I call grandmas scent its my own special get out of insanity alive card so it's secret. Now just as quick a feeling of guilt creeps in remembering how I bugged, that " Im bored" and want to go home. "When are we leaving"? Never realizing it was special, every moment of it was. But you have so many moments ahead. You carelessly discard them like useless words. It was a time of my moms with her mom. I wish I remembered the conversations I can still see, smell, feel, and if I try hard and don't lose focus can make the conversation or rather my version of what I think they said or wanted them to be saying. After a seemingly brutally long visit, my head whips around as I hear the faithful, "Bah" and little giggle my grandma did, I loved it when she did that. Which meant with a clap of her hands and stomp of her feet she would get from the chair, hug and kiss us bye walk us to the door. Along waddled Gee-Gee her 1,000 year old chihuahua for which we called her "Gee-Gee" grandma. Gee-gee would later become Pepe another chihuahua black with a white diamond neck spot. her loyal footstools. Side note: her dogs would lay at her feet so she could put her feet up on their backs. She had a special way with animals and plants. A long lost ancient soul full of old knowledge that my mom wasn't tuned into. We are at the door now, I'm in the front yard still griping "I'm bored" . Apparently, not that bored as I find something to play with which allows me to endure another 20 min conversation taking place. We then move outside to the gate mom at the back of car grandma still talking and waving pulling weeds watering plants I'm siting in the front seat of the blazer huffing and sighing grandma still lovingly smiling at me, mom frustrated. grandma never showed any sign of hurt feelings for my actions or attitude which only reaffirms my belief she is a saint. Hopefully on the other side she still loves that much ad will speak on my behalf when the time cones. so, there I am, I open every compartment which I've already done and memorized on other trips to grandmas. As I write laughing at myself a feeling of shame and guilt creeps in and I think who was I to take that time for granted. As adults we try to recreate that sense of security we felt as kids. My mom and grandmas time was limited as mine and my moms was . Same as my time with my kids will be limited and suddenly I wonder if the universe penalizes you for cutting in on their time. I hope not but I know now the answer is a heart aching, Yes! For my infractions of interrupting, of which, there were many. My time with mom was interrupted with an equally shameful display of deserving actions. Karma is a bitch. Huh, who knew? Another story though, getting back. With a hop up to her seat into the cockpit of the orange blazer and adjusting the pillow she sits on to elevate herself to be able to see out of the windshield, turn of the key, ignition on, sounds of the transmission gears engaging, then we are off. I remember though a well developed ritual of mine of always looking back to see grandma wave one last time over her fence. A funny ritual of already missing her but I was in such a hurry to leave. I feel that this is a capital offense in my heart and wish it back. Now, as I did then I would view the same scene, the narrow alleyway drive and the houses, yards, cars seemed never changed. Sometimes to kick start a memory I will drive back through there and down that path. It looks the same like nothing has ever really changed, it has that old world feel. We learn too late that there is no going back So, of course, grandma isn't there and her house is completely different the only one to have changed over time. Was I that bad to deserve this...?. Man, I was a brat. Laughing guiltily I think next time I will get it right. We turn from the alleyway and head for the same route that took us home every time. I memorized the path and can remember the details fresh, 30 min to get home on roads with no traffic, no using the freeway as mom hated and rarely drove on any. I can kick and hate myself for being a brat wasting that precious time then. As a suffocating sense of shame comes on remembering how we all, slowly but surely stopped going to visit altogether unless we were told to. Imagine that, having to be told to visit or see that person who loves you unconditionally and makes you feel secure. But, "it's boring", how dumb we are. We won't know what we miss till later. Mind you this is all before electronics my grandma still had a rotary phone or later push button. No cable but always on Spanish station. It was a time when we were outside kids or people of a different time. Now everyone is wired to the gills with electronic devices to stay in touch and be available. I see it as regression we have tried to simplify things that we have. in our haste to simplify we've made ourselves more distant.
Things were easier then you talked or interacted. Toys were simple too there were no video games we had Hot-wheels that came with orange tracks. Which was my moms favorite weapon of choice to spank with. A folded Hot-wheel track orange with a crease where she folded it. I can feel the sting on my leg as she knew to hit bare skin and not your butt. Plastic has a distinct smell when it gets warm or heated. I can smell the warm plastic orange Hot-wheel track as she pulls the one she has out of her purse to show off her weapon of choice to me. She has it with her always or always within reach like the one in the middle compartment of blazer which coincidentally is orange also. I don't know if this was on purpose . Hmmmm. I think not. She also kept one on top of the refrigerator in a Tupperware bowl a light avocado green Tupperware bowl. Man, my mom had crazy energy back then. Of course being of like mind and heart we were both equally stubborn. Where did she go? That woman who would grab our toy and gives us or me a good beating at he drop of a hat. I try to remember when she lost that zing but I can't or just don't want to see it. But it happened. I being the fourth child spoiled and stubborn full of energy or what probably today would get me put on Ritalin. Hyper-hyper but now with my little brother growing up I waited impatiently and eager to witness violence that was not directed at me. I wanted to see his turn at the end of the track. But no hope, she lost that fire by then and times were now different hitting your kids was no longer welcomed. I miss those days and when my generation which is the last to be spanked talk and relate to that time it's hard to explain the feelings to the younger. I really think they missed out. Here is the irony, as we had kids my mom took on a new approach spoil them rotten. When we raise our voices she gets hurt and says "I neveeer did that with you kids" . Emphasis on the never. Ummmm sorry mom you said what ? No, you just used to beat us with our toys you bought us to play with. We stopped asking for Hot-wheel stuff when were kids but lo and behold we would always get a Hot-wheel gift on our birthdays or Christmas
Memories have a way of becoming pathways to sainthood. Before I get out of control or my heart gets in the way of what was true and what I want to be true. I will state for the record that my mom was no saint but she was the best mom "she" knew how to be. Maybe she will get it right the next time around. It is my belief we get recycled when we die to relive our lives again until we get it right. Just like the movie groundhog day with bil Murray and the gorgeous Andy McDowell. A guy relives the same day over and over sort of his penance. But he gets it right in the end. Just like our lives. Okay I'm no guru or crackpot religious fanatic. I just think we keep going Back and reliving the same lives until you make the right choices those choices that you know are the life changing choices when they come up. You know you get it right when the choice you pick just feels right like the universe makes sense and you are truly happy when you have that feeling that is the right choice hopefully we get to keep those in our do overs. if, not what a waste it could take an eternity to get it right. Just like Groundhog day. Why can't we have a mulligan when we really know we have strayed? Or a reset button? I digress, always wanted to say that. But, on to the next memory. In the end that is all we have is our memories and I do believe " our memories are the path to immortality" that is the secret ...... Shhhhh! , like immortals in stories. Stories are what keep people alive and life lives in the details the little things in life. . Little things added up, equal your time or a full life. Long or short . Length of time is just a matter of perspective.
The great big universe is after all, just a collection of many little things and they are all that matter in the end. The little things in life like, an orange Hot-wheel track.