Posts Tagged ‘looking back’

Christmas with Gene Autry and years gone by

Christmas is my favorite time of year … always has been.  When I was a kid, putting up the decorations in our home was my favorite time of year; and every year Gene Autry was on the record player … morning, noon, and night.  There came a time when I moved on from all those things, and didn’t listen to Gene Autry, didn’t decorate trees, and let Christmas come and go in stride.  I hoped the few times back home, over the years, that I could recapture some of the Christmas spirit that was there in my youth, but … it, and everyone, just like me, had moved on.  Not to say that those trips weren’t enjoyable; just not ideal.  There was still the little pin holes in the ceilings from years of hanging streamers, and looking at those always gave me a smile.  It wasn’t until Tara was born in 2002 that Gene Autry made a come back, and when Alyssa arrived in 2004, he was still going strong … indeed, he still is today … I’m on the return leg of my trip through life now, the nostalgia portion … what was in, that went out, is back in again … and long may it live … “Merry Christmas folks … where ever you may be” …

Worth a Christmas Spin …

http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=1D9CBDBEC0D5F983

 

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© 2010, Tim (P) Prendeville

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Hindsights and Perceptions

Rain.
Days and days of rain.
Was it ever any other way?
All of those days,
Perpetual darkness and gloom.
Did the sun not ever shine?
It must have.
It must have.
Didn’t it?
I just don’t remember.
I just don’t.
Why is that I wonder?
All those years.
Even when I look back now,
It’s rain I remember
And nothing much else.
But I’m sure there must have been more.
Wasn’t there?

© 2010, Tim (P) Prendeville

Every Now And Again

Every now and again
I look at you,
Captured there in a moment,
Smiling,
Mid sentence,
Mine,
The way I remember you.
And I think of those days
Those days
Those days when we were young,
Those days when all we needed,
And all we had,
Was each other and a dream

Every now and again
I think of late night talks,
And starry island nights
And promises made,
If not to you
At least to me,
And if not believed by you
At least by me,
Only to be dismissed in later days,
Alone,
And seen,
As you did back then,
As romantic notions
Dreamed of
In romantic places.

Every now and again
I look at you,
And wonder,
And pause,
And drift away,
And feel that old familiar feeling.
But all too soon it fades,
Surrendering to another pause,
One that reminds of today,
And yesterdays that are gone,
Put away like your photographs,
And memories
That can only be relived
Briefly.

© 2009, Tim (P) Prendeville

Night Flight

I saw you last night.
When our eyes met,
You smiled.
It was a gentle smile,
The kind you wore so long ago.
There was no surprise in your smile,
As if our meeting was not by chance.
You sat beside me,
We talked of trivial things,
Our arms touching briefly,
Then lingering.
But nothing more;
But still …

© 2009, Tim (P) Prendeville

Second Chances

How quickly lives can change,
And how those decisions and judgements of the past can come calling.
Some made in haste
Some not
Some made with feeling
Some that were not
Some we stuck with
Some we could not
Some that brought joy
But some that did not.
And for those we must atone

So fragile is our human ego.
We speak brave words to others
Yet to ourselves,
In the quiet times,
And ever so humbly
We question ourselves.
Where is it I am going?
Where is it I have come from?
How will people read my life?
When will it be over?
Maybe tonight?
And if so,
What is it I leave behind?

In the cold and dark of loneliness
In that place you have no hand to hold,
Or a shoulder for leaning,
Where will you turn?
When those decisions made in haste,
Their results now laid out before you
Come calling,
Will you find comfort?
And if offered a second chance,
Where all can be made good again,
Or at least the possibility,
Will you take it?
For some such a leap of faith is beyond their grasp,
But for others,
Not.
Which shall you choose?
I choose change.

© 2009, Tim (P) Prendeville

Without Wings (Revised)

When I was young
It was the little things,
Those things in later life ignored,
That gave me moments of unrest.
The big picture too abstract
Too far removed,
Something to be pondered in later days
Those days have come and gone.

I would like to think it not my fault
My life now lived in a role of minion
The dream once dreamed no longer real
Or even within reach,
Left for other fools to folly with
And ponder in their later years.

Now I am grown and life has moved on.
I punch a clock
I grind an anvil
I serve my time.
I have a regiment of should haves
And could haves and would haves
But they too have grown tired
They too have grown old.

© 2009, Tim (P) Prendeville

A Hand To Hold

A short time ago my six-year-old daughter’s teacher told her that she’d soon be old enough to walk to class by herself, and not “drag” her poor dad along all the way from the car. I was within earshot of this at the time and casually smiled it off as a nonoccurrence.  But for some reason this morning it came back to me, and the profoundness and fragility of such an utterance hit me hard.  It occurred to me that I never want my daughter to feel so grown up that she wouldn’t want me to walk somewhere with her.  I never want her to be so grown up that she doesn’t want to hold my hand in front of her friends, or give me a kiss and a hug goodbye in the morning, or be embarrassed by me when I goof around with her in public.  I want to be with her until I take that last walk with her down the aisle, and hand her off to whomever she chooses to be her life partner … and even then, I’ll have problems letting go.

I remember the first morning I saw you
Taking your first peek at the world
And the look of confusion
And a face full of questions
But no fear.

I remember it was raining
A typical Irish day
Though it was June
And in my heart, I knew
That my life was now not my own.

I remember phone calls made and one line texts
Telling those who cared that all was well
Five fingers five toes and eyes that were mine
And making plans to wet the baby’s head
Old Irish traditions live long

I remember Granny
And the first time she held you
In the sun lounge where the sun seldom shines
And her smile speaking volumes
The way only a granny’s smile can

I remember your first day in school
And tears that were shed
And wondering where the years had gone
And why so fast
And becoming fearful of a future without you

I remember all of your days
Your first steps
Your first fall
Your first words
Your first smile
Your first pain
Your first ice cream
Your first everything

When you have grown
And put away those little girl ways
And live in a world of your own making
And no longer need my hand to hold
I hope it is because
I have taught you well.

© 2009, Tim (P) Prendeville