THOUGHTS OF THE PAST
August 31, 2015
By Olivene Godfrey
I am writing this blog on Sunday afternoon. I am home alone and my mind is filled with thoughts I am compelled to put on paper.
Yesterday, I listened to music that I enjoyed and which brought back memories. A bit of background. Last week Barry had removed the large television in the den as we seldom watched it. Barry has a large flat screen TV in his media room and had bought the new large one for my sitting room in my master bedroom.
Barry set up his super stereo system in the den. Last night Barry helped me to the den where I listened to music until bedtime. While I listened to the stereo, my thoughts turned to the den which is a pretty dramatic room and is the perfect room for a stereo. The room has a sunken floor and a high cathedral ceiling and a large creek rock fireplace. One wall is covered with California redwood paneling from the floor to the ceiling. The large picture window and glass french doors give the feeling of being outside on the patio.
As I listened to the music, I particularly enjoyed a CD that features our friend, Kym and her sister, Denise. Both ladies have beautiful voices and the recording lifted my spirit as I listened to them sing.
Then, for a while I listened to music from the internet. The final song was the late George Jones singing, "He stopped loving her today." Unexpectedly, I remembered a young man who attended the Dalton's Creative Arts Writer's group for a while. I had a key to the Guild and when everyone had left except the young man, he started telling me that his ex-wife had left him and he was heart broken. He said when he was in his bed at night and a car came by, he would think she was returning. I didn't know what to tell him. But, I listened to him and then he left the Guild.
A few months later, I read his obituary in the local paper. Later, when I heard the George Jones plaintive song, I thought, yes, he stopped loving her at last.
During the years when I wrote a daily column in Dalton's Daily Citizen, I would receive mail and phone calls from people who were suffering and wanted to tell me about it. I'm no Dear Abby and all I could do was listen to the troubled people.
See you next time. Comments welcome. (As told to Tam.)
By Olivene Godfrey
I am writing this blog on Sunday afternoon. I am home alone and my mind is filled with thoughts I am compelled to put on paper.
Yesterday, I listened to music that I enjoyed and which brought back memories. A bit of background. Last week Barry had removed the large television in the den as we seldom watched it. Barry has a large flat screen TV in his media room and had bought the new large one for my sitting room in my master bedroom.
Barry set up his super stereo system in the den. Last night Barry helped me to the den where I listened to music until bedtime. While I listened to the stereo, my thoughts turned to the den which is a pretty dramatic room and is the perfect room for a stereo. The room has a sunken floor and a high cathedral ceiling and a large creek rock fireplace. One wall is covered with California redwood paneling from the floor to the ceiling. The large picture window and glass french doors give the feeling of being outside on the patio.
As I listened to the music, I particularly enjoyed a CD that features our friend, Kym and her sister, Denise. Both ladies have beautiful voices and the recording lifted my spirit as I listened to them sing.
Then, for a while I listened to music from the internet. The final song was the late George Jones singing, "He stopped loving her today." Unexpectedly, I remembered a young man who attended the Dalton's Creative Arts Writer's group for a while. I had a key to the Guild and when everyone had left except the young man, he started telling me that his ex-wife had left him and he was heart broken. He said when he was in his bed at night and a car came by, he would think she was returning. I didn't know what to tell him. But, I listened to him and then he left the Guild.
A few months later, I read his obituary in the local paper. Later, when I heard the George Jones plaintive song, I thought, yes, he stopped loving her at last.
During the years when I wrote a daily column in Dalton's Daily Citizen, I would receive mail and phone calls from people who were suffering and wanted to tell me about it. I'm no Dear Abby and all I could do was listen to the troubled people.
See you next time. Comments welcome. (As told to Tam.)
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