DRUMSTICK MARKS ON THE WALL
DRUMSTICK MARKS ON THE WALL
It was the time of release.
I walked through the house for the last time.
The carpets had just been cleaned and the smell of ten years of memories washed away.
Yet, the walls talked to me reminding me of family holidays, arrival of grand babies, and all that fills the seasons in life…the good, the bad, the wondrous and the sad. Each room spoke of specific years, specific occasions, and specific memories.
I walked down the stairs to the room I dreaded saying goodbye to.
It was his space… the entire downstairs in one open room.
The place that at one time was filled with his friends, guitars, speakers, his drums and the smell of him.
They were never a formal band, as the faces changed daily, but I called them ,
“J.T. And The Basement Boys.”
This was the gathering place. The place where secrets were told, laughter was heard and the business of music was the theme.
Beginning with a tiny drum set from J.C. Penney, J.T. moved to bigger and better until he acquired an expensive Remo set from his uncle. The shiny collection of silver and gold stood in the corner under the silk Bad Religion banner.
Sitting on his drummer’s throne he would raise the sticks high, striking the drums with the message that came from within him bringing his soul through the music.
By clashing the cymbals he caused a vibration that went right through the walls of the house and out into the ether. At times, he drummed with such speed and concentration he would leave drumstick marks as he hit the wall behind him.
I brushed my hands over these marks now. The room had been quiet for many years since he passed.
Standing here with eyes closed I once again saw J.T. And The Basement Boys laughing, singing and living in the music.
I felt the throbbing of the drums circle me.
My hands cupped the wall as if trying to clutch on to the stick marks, the feeling, the sounds and the memory. I wanted to hold on to the marks, cut them out of the wall and keep them forever held safely with me.
But, a time comes when everyone must open their fisted hand and release.
Release memories, release people, release anger and hurt … release whatever is holding your heart captured in space and time.
It was time to release.
It was time for me to release the house. It was time to open the space for new people and their memory making.
It was time for me to release myself from this space and allow me to move forward.
It was time to release the drumstick marks on the wall.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Pennie’s Life Lesson:
“There comes a time when you must open your fisted hand
and release what is holding your heart captured.”
***Since we all learn from each other, I would love to have you share your thoughts and experiences relating to this post in a comment below. Thank you!***
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1/10/2014 01:14:14 am
That is an amazing story.
1/10/2014 08:00:28 am
I had never thought about how hard it must have been for you to give up that house, especially all the memories of JT that were in it. Another great story.
1/13/2014 11:29:02 pm
Beautiful. this leaves me full of emotion. I grew up on grays gable and in Indian Hills with all these awesome souls. Makes me miss "jt and the basement boys" and all the crazy good times we had. Definitely memories I never want to lose. JT taught me so much about punk and how to be cool. lol. He was a great friend and someone I will never forget. Thanks for sharing Penny! Love and miss ya Tizzle!
Pennie Hunt Robinson
1/14/2014 03:33:31 am
What a wonderful comment! I love hearing about JT and how he impacted people! What a bright spirit he was and his light still shines on all of us! Today is the day to celebrate how lucky we are for having been touched by him! Much love to you!
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There is a certain magic about where I live both physically and spiritually – on the crossroads of Spirit and Brave.
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