Leave out all the rest

I dreamed I was missing
You were so scared
But no one would listen
‘Cause no one else cared
After my dreaming
I woke with this fear
What am I leaving
When I’m done here?
So if you’re asking me
I want you to know
When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I’ve done
Help me leave behind some
Reasons to be missed
And don’t resent me
And when you’re feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest

From the moment I first heard it in the movie theater, this song, “Leave Out All The Rest” from “Twilight”, captured my soul.  Haunting words and music that run through my mind as I rush through these golden years frantically trying to put my little world in order.

I don’t know if it’s just me, at this stage of my life, wondering about what I’ll leave behind.  Not material things, mind you, but the quality of memories in the minds of those closest to me, the people I’ve loved in my lifetime.

So much of what we speak about, on an almost daily basis, involves time.  It seems we never have enough of it and painfully watch as it speeds past us with each passing year.

I worry about the mistakes I’ve made which might overshadow any of the positive things I’ve accomplished.  Let’s face it, when someone dies, everyone gathers to celebrate that departed life, in some fashion.  And then, time passes, softening the sorrow and sentimental imagery.  Painful thoughts, like sharp pricks of a pin, bring reminders of unhappy times, causing people to deliberately not think about that name engraved on a slab of marble.  That name, which once represented a loving human being, all too often, ends up being forgotten in a crowded field of hallowed ground.

We clean out our closets and attics, ridding ourselves of needless accumulations.  As our mortality stares back at us in some mirror, we rush to mend broken family fences or renew old friendships, keeping a wary eye on that mystical hourglass of time.  Why don’t we have this fear when we’re young enough to change things and mold our lives in a more positive direction?  This so-called wisdom we achieve in later life could be put to so much better use when there is an expanse of time still to be enjoyed…and fulfilled.

I want to be remembered, not with tears but with smiles.  Spare me any resentment and not allow my memory to harbor thoughts of anger or emptiness.  Any of this would mean that my time on earth was wasted.

For now, I’m working very hard on reasons to be missed.

 

From The Writer’s Workshop…

An anthem, typically, is a song of praise, or gladness but can also reflect a point-of-view.   This song did just that when I first wrote this post a while back.  Still does.   A reflection of my life and feelings.  Enough said.

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So many marbles. How much time?

Marbles.  You can be accused of losing them or still have them locked away in a velvet pouch, guarding each brilliant glass sphere from the ravages of time.

Alzheimer’s disease crept in years ago and brutally made off like a thief in the night with my late mother’s collection.  Since her death, my own fear of ending up almost mindless, a stranger in my family’s midst, pushes me constantly to exercise my brain, holding onto those marbles that make up who I am.

Then, there is that time issue; one which people often write about.  One heartwarming story, 1,000 Marbles, was written by Jeffrey Davis years ago, about a ham radio conversation he listened to, well, it touched me deeply.  I share part of it with you…

I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whoever he was talking with something about “a thousand marbles”.  I was intrigued as I listened to what he had to say….

  
You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.”
 
“Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900 which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime.”
 
 ” It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail”, he went on, “and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy.”
 

“So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.”

“I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight.” 

“Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.” 

 

      

Since reading this, I’ve stocked-up on marbles as well as a variety of jars in which to keep them.  Call it my personal investment in time, call it crazy, call it what you will.  With each passing week, I remove just one colorful ball of my past and comfort myself with those that remain. 

And I hope…for time.

 

 

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 From Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop...Write a blog post inspired by the word time.  

I wrote this several years ago, ten to be exact, and time remains on the forefront of every single moment of my existence.  Probably the same for most of us, I imagine.  Each day begins with a plan, a goal, and what seems like an endless “to do” list, while a clock looks over my shoulder.

 
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That fork in the road…

Grab a cuppa, sit back and let me take you on a little trip.  I’m providing some music for the ride.

New England.  A gathering of states, snuggled together, that beckon tourists from everywhere.  For my family some years back, a few hours spent driving in a northwesterly direction, out of New York, was the start of a grand tour and the gathering of sometimes wonderful  memories. 

                                                           

Packed along with extended family in our nine-passenger, bigger than life, station wagon were road maps (remember those?)  We started in the outer edges of western Massachusetts and forged a snake-like pattern through Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine, back through the eastern side of Massachusetts, breezed by Rhode Island (tiny state, easy to fly by) and ended up at Mystic Seaport in Connecticut before trudging back to The Empire State.

                                           

Picture this if you will…our family truckster complete with a luggage carrier on the roof.  Inside, the rear seat facing the back window held two young cousins.  Behind the wheel, my husband.  Riding shotgun, yours truly, clutching previously mentioned road maps.  In the second seat, our three-year old daughter, standing freely, unencumbered by a mandatory child car seat, flanked by her favorite Aunt and Uncle.

We were off!  Almost.  After one.. tiny delay.  

                           

Somehow, as we all prepared to load family and necessities into the station wagon, my husband managed to back-up the car at a furious pace and ran over my Samsonite luggage that was waiting at the curb. After that opener, the first hour of travel was silent except for the grumbles heard in the front seat…from me.   Later, as we crossed into Massachusetts, the mood lifted with the beautiful scenery around us and we rushed to make our first, of what seemed like thousands, of rest area stops.

                      

Why is it that every time people scurry out of a car for a bathroom, they stop and load up on more drinks that just pave the way for the next rest area emergency? 

Our chosen path was Route 7 which wound through magnificent countrysides, past farms with grazing cows and horses and the occasional, irresistible tourist shops which, when our trip was over, probably rivaled bathroom pit stops.  But hey, that’s what a vacation is all about, purchasing those irresistible memories that end up being stored in the attic once you return home.

Now and then, the roads would lead us to quaint covered bridges and endless photo opportunities much to the dismay of two husbands and three complaining children who were all deliberately ignored.

Honestly, how could anyone resist sights like these? 

                                                                      

The journey continued as our road map became more tattered with marks of happy travels and various “forks in the road”.  We often ventured off the beaten path and did some exploring, eventually landing in New Hampshire and the infamous Mt. Washington Auto Road.  This stop, I can assure you, was not for the fainthearted. 

Like myself.

                                                                                                                      

Consider the size of most vehicles years ago.  Then, place them on a mountain road with a perilous right-sided drop into oblivion.  Cars making the climb up, and down, barely had enough passing room and crept by each other as the drivers kept a death-grip on the wheel.

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It was a warm afternoon but, as we crept up the winding road that took us 6,288 feet into the heavens, it gradually became cooler once we landed at the Observatory.  Just past the tree line, evidence of the intense wind near the mountain top was seen on all the trees that were bare on one side.

                                         

                                                  

After this, it was all downhill (some treacherous road humor here) with frequent stops to throw water on the smoking car brakes.  At the end, each wary road climber was given a “This car climbed Mt. Washington” bumper sticker.                      

Shortly after that ride, everyone headed for the nearest bathroom.

Next on our ever-winding road trip was scenic Maine,  its rocky coastline,  the Quoddy outlet ….and Lobster.

                                                                               

Then, on to New Bedford, Massachusetts, the Whaling Museum, Seamen’s Bethel (made famous in the movie “Moby Dick”), the Gloucester Fisherman’s Statue…and more… Lobster.

                                

Heading back down the coast brought my personal trip favorite…Salem, Massachusetts, where my husband commented that I looked right at home.

What did he mean by that?

                                

Lastly, the weary travelers ended up at Mystic Seaport, Connecticut….and even more…Lobster!

This took place almost fifty years ago.   Think about it.  A family vacation without the addition of mobile video, GPS, Nintendo or other electronic devices.  The younger children looked out windows, watched for cows and played license plate games.  They napped, got fussy, quarreled with each other, consumed endless snacks and asked “are we there yet” a zillion times.  The best part was that the adults even had a wonderful time and returned home still speaking to each other.

The even better part was…..all that Lobster along the way, the real “fork” in the roads we traveled.

workshop-button-1From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop…Tell us about a family vacation you took one summer.

I couldn’t resist sharing this old post, once again, probably the third time I’ve done so.  At the time I first wrote this, it was a 37 year old memory.  Today, it’s a flashback to more than 50 years ago.  So much has changed since then.  The favorite Aunt and Uncle who rode in our back seat have both passed away.  Our family grew with two more children.  Road trips became fewer and flying the friendly skies took over but…whenever we land at some destination, there’s always a ride waiting to happen…and, sometimes…Lobster!

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