Memories are important, well the good ones at least. I have a favorite one as I'm sure you all do. I'll let you in on it and then I'd like you to tell me yours.
I was born in Tunisia. For those of you who don't know it's the Northern most country in Africa next to Morocco. Every summer I'd go there and stay at my grandparents' house on the beach. One morning, I woke up as the sun began to rise. The sunrise there is pretty special. The sky is purple and orange and the sun's rays sparkle on the water like diamonds. I stood on the balcony and watched as a fisherman rowed his little wooden boat out to sea. The image reminded me of a Monet painting.
Later that day, I watched my grandmother dressed in a long skirt and heels have her afternoon drink. Although she was in her seventies she still had a glass of Johnny Walker in one hand and cigarette in the other. She had big Jackie O sunglasses on and makeup fit for a movie close up. She was a dramatic woman and it felt like she was starring in her own film at all times. She was looking out at the sea and when I called her name she turned abruptly. She was crying. I'll never know why. Maybe she was remembering her daughter that had died 15 years ago or because she'd never made it as an actress. I wish I could have take a picture. It was surreal. Later on, I was playing with the cats that inhabited the big garden. My grandfather was sick, we'd find out later that he had cancer. I guess I was making too much noise because all of a sudden I heard a terrifying howl come from his room. I had woken up the beast within and he was not pleased. He came out with the ferociousness of a lion and started swinging his cane in the air as obscenities emerged from his cries. My mother was there along with my cousin and brothers and we all hid in the fig tress too frightened to climb down. We were laughing so hard our sides hurt because the whole situation was comical. It felt like a Marx brothers movie. My grandmother who was on her fourth or fifth drink slammed her bedroom door and I could hear her yelling from within.
I don't know why but this memory is dear to my heart. My grandparents are dead today and the house on the beach has been sold. I still dream of it sometimes. I still dream of the times when we were all a family, a dysfunctional one but still a family. I long for those days of heavenly sunrises and hilarious outbursts due to too much whiskey or out of control egos. Maybe one day I will see that house on the beach again...
Till next time.
A SUNDAY AFTERNOON
ReplyDeleteDrinking champagne from between your lips
After mornings in the sun
The summer my mother died
Later, we would lay in my single bed,
you asleep
My shoulder your pillow
And I, awake
Listen to bits of the songs
Playing on the car radios from outside my bedroom window
It's where I learned to be patient
On Sunday afternoons
Very well done indeed. Cheers to that!!!
ReplyDeleteNice Cheyenne. .I have one. .I will tell you; but I am not so brave as to tell the world. . NOT YET. .
ReplyDeleteWhen I was little, in the 50's and early 60's, my family lived on a farm place just a mile outside of a little town, population 740. Sometimes on a weekend summer night, my mom would suggest we all "go to town and watch the cars go by". So in the car would go my brother, sister, mom, dad and me. We'd usually park by the grocery store as that's where the greatest activity was and my dad would see someone he knew and they'd talk. On rare occasions we would get to have an ice cream cone - that was a treat - they were 10 or 15 cents, depending on the size. But mostly we'd just sit there and watch the cars go by. It's one of my favorite memories. I still like doing it today.
ReplyDeleteGood one Brian!!!!
ReplyDelete