What a beautiful post. What a beautiful song. Thank you for sharing both.

Odd how stuff sticks in your memory, isn't it, Matt? The one I remember from when I was a kid is "Sentimental Journey". It was my parent's "song", and I still have the tattered and battered sheet music from the late 40s or early 50s. Learned to play it on the piano, guitar, clarinet and (weirdly) the mouth organ. All very ineptly, of course, but it was fun.

Matt by chance, we saw the Ink Spots in Waikiki on our way out to China in February, '86. What luck that was! They were all near the end but what power!

My mom would always sing I See The Moon, as we went to collect dad from the train each night. :)

Loved this one, Matt.

r.

Gee, I got stuck with "Mairzey Doats and Dosey doats"3a

Gee, I got stuck with "Mairzey Doats and Dosey doats"3a

Thanks a bunch (Ugh?) bobbot.
Now for several nights I burps.
Bad lyrics will be Nigh Mares.
I be dreaming I sing Hoarse.
No one dreams of Wild Sex.
I dream I wake in Barn Stall.

If I listen To The Guthrie's-
For days my brain's Crazy.
I mean Good Crazy Tunes.

No one listens to Politico.
I dream they Big Baboon.
Nobody believes. Boobs.
They still at Ma's Paps.
I dream they suck Pigs.

Pap-Teat of Bob Cats?
Big Fools Dream Asses.
I try to be Respectful?

I honestly do. Dream.
Life becomes a Dream.
Share with ` B. Obama.

Michelle is a Fine Baby.
I dream She Grab Ears.
Michelle claps the Best.

I Dream Michelle Cook.
She Cook Dream Soups.
Michelle O. Entrances.

It is amazing how many more senses get activated with smell or song. I wonder what all of this 'remembering' could mean? I hope it just means that you now have a little more time to relax.

What an heartfelt post.. Isn't it strange out things pop up in your head like tunes? I cannot sing so I just put my headphones on and hum along.
Memories..
HUGGGGGGGGGG

I guess I'm not that old. I still dream. Beautiful memories of a time so innocent and endearing. I do recall singing harmony with my sister in the back seat of our car. I loved Christmas carols....which being Jewish, did not amuse my Dad. However....I would sing O Holy Night as loud as I could. Still my favorite.

Thanks for a wonderful post. Wishing you a million beautiful dreams. We are never to old for wishes and never to old to dream.

May we never grow too old to dream, old friend. Beautiful post...soft and floating upon my mind now. Thank you.

Whoops...tried to get in and change my.. to old for and my to old to..
to the correct too (s).... have to learn to slow down.

Beautiful, thank you. At the memory center where I work we sing the old songs over and over and over. It soothes us.

Wistful. When you get older your dreams become more meaningful I do think. As do the memories. This one was pure sweetness.

Perfectly lovely, Matt. I can't hear any of the Big Bands without thinking of my dad.

your memories are an opus never forgotten; i envy such memories.

Gads man. I was wondering how u were gonna follow that poem.
You wrote. Yknow, about floating…
I get uplifted by music.
I guess it is kinda sacred. As u say:
“ remained buried in my distant memory
until just now,
and they seem to be bubbling up with an effervescence
that stings the eyes
while stretching smiles in my morning grump face.”
~
I have also noticed an alarming upsurge of childhood stuff recently too.
Dad’s signature whistle.
Mom never sang.
Dad would sit there at Holiday season, like a maestro, arms waving to the Christmas music. And when that deeper than the Dark Forest voice started accompanying, my God…hit a deep spot down in the soul he gave me.

The manly soul. A singing soul.

~

He woulda loved this one, and he woulda said,
“Ahhhhhhhhhh, dear Eleanor , this song reminds me of you!”
“George? Shush. Oh. Alright. What???” Mom

“ah
When I grow too old to dream
I'll have you to remember
When I grow too old to dream
Your love will live in my heart “


~

That shit came true.

You have shared some lovely memories of your parents. You must have had a wonderful childhood. It is nice to read. It brings a smile to my face.

Toora Loora Loora.. oh my.. that one.

Wonderful post Matty :).

Rated for clearly never too old ;).

Matt,you are a darling to bring such lovely memory for us to share.
The best line remains the one with the melting voices of your parents and then all four of you.
Thank you.
~R~

Friends, Countrymen and Othercountrymen -- and Women, and Others! The combination yesterday of a sluggish OS, a sluggish computer and the need to mow the yard before dark kept me from thanking youse guys individually for your kind remarks. Things are working a tad better today, but I'm about to tap out a new chapter of The Hemingway Test, so I hope this one-fits-all expression of gratitude will get me off the hook.

It's beautiful here in Hampton Roads, Virginia, today -- cool, colorful and with a ghostly fog hovering everywhere this morning. I expect at any moment our mile-long lane from the highway to morph into the haunted Sleepy Hollow road down which at any moment will serve up a screeching of off-pitch fiddles and thunder of hooves before allowing a glimpse of the mighty steed of legend charging by, shooting flames from its eyes, huffing steam through its distended nostrils and carrying a black-cloaked rider with a large pumpkin for a head. Wait...is that the screech of off-pitch fiddles I hear? Nah, too early. Tonite, after a bottle of Angry Orchard cider...

"synchronizing perfectly in a duet that filled the car with a heavenly sound that never failed to smother whatever bickering my sister and I were orchestrating in the back seat."

I would love to think that my hubby and I sound like this when we sing in the car on west central WI roads...but my kids would probably say we sound more like the Griswolds in the Vacation movies.

This post had all of the elements that a reader could want - reminiscent, visual, and layered...I really enjoyed this ~

Thanks, Heidi. You got a laugh out of me with the Griswolds remark. Actually, my sister and I probly felt similarly back then, but remembering back brings me to tears.

Sweet, Matt. Very wistful and endearing read.
R

Thanks, PW.

aw matt, how lucky you are that those days still come back to you on the gentle wave of a dream. I love when something starts a snippet of a snatch of a fragment of a memory, like planting a flower and seeing the sparkle of a diamond in the dirt. and you dig and dig and while you do, a precious moment returns...

what a sweet post. thank you for sharing. hugs to you.

just to be sure my rating took.

My mother was the singer in my house. She loved the old Irish pop tunes, from Danny Boy to Molly Malone. But she sang us to sleep with the most random stuff from WWII, like "Don't Get Around Much Anymore" and "The Birth of the Blues." I loved singing those to my kids when they were little because I knew they would not hear them from anyone else. I added some Gershwin and Irving Berlin too, of course.

This is really nice. What a wonderful memory of the two of them. My mother could sing and my father was tone deaf. She taught the parakeet to whistle with her. Maybe I'll write about that. This is one of the things I love about OS. We read each other, marvel at the writing, and then it sparks memories of our own. Glad I saw this and glad you are still here.

Thanks, Monkey. I like that diamond in the garden visual. Would that it were, eh?

Nilesite, for some reason my dad loved the old Irish songs, too, and he hadn't a drop of the emerald blood in him.

Sharon, puh-leeeeeeeeze write about your mom teaching the parakeet to whistle! So glad I can claim musehood for it.

So nice. I did so like this reminiscence.

So nice. I did so like this reminiscence.

Thanks, Steve. Funny, the damned song has set up housekeeping in my ear. Must be trying to tell me something.

Some good memories.

Yes, Phyllis. some good among the bad.

I knew that I only had enough time for enjoying three posts because with each one taking at least a 2 minutes to load etc---life is just too short.

So I picked Shiral, toritto and this gem of yours. And I am so happy I did. Of all the stuff you've written that I like---I like this one just a little bit more.

Really great piece Matt.

I'm flattered and honored, Rog. OS sure has been a beast today. Thanks for taking the trouble!

though
the war rages,
the choir sings
until there is
absolute silence


~R~

Sadly, JP, I fear you are right.

To be completely irreverent, as Hannibal Lechter used to sing it:

"When I grow to old to dream
I'll have you to dismember
When I grow to old to dream
I'll eat your liver and heart"

You're in fine form tonite, Tom.