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Dreaming Forever More

Aspirations Alive Thrive

By Opal A RoszellPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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Image By Opal A Roszell

The Wild Child

A mother with four children. A woman of art and jazz, soul and music in the midst of a dream to be. Of dreams and aspirations. Living in the moment. Stealing the spotlight with her charm and aristocrat poetry, and saxophone solos. She stood apart. Having met a piano player in her younger years, my mother was immersed in the lounge scene. Retro music revived the hippy culture of the Kootenay Mountian oasis. Just with her and the members of her band. Collusion, they want to be a revolution of stride. A dark smokey bar where the people hind. My mother was their entertainment. Should could sing. Anything, opera, jazz, blues, country. A wild child. An artist, a poet, a dreamer.

What The Future Held

Unfortunately, several years have passed. Now leaving her in her own 60's and not the fun good old days 60's. The kind that leaves you grey-haired, bitter and clingy.

Singing My Childhood Away

She would sing "Summer Time." to me when I went to sleep sometime when I was little. Everything she did was a song. Yet, unlike her, I lived in the shadows of her smile. Afraid of the mess I might become, after night upon night, watching her dreams slip away. In part, her alcoholism and, in part, her lack of social and emotional competency beyond her musical intuition. Despite all she had to overcome, she was living her aspirations through the curls and curves of her magnificent voice. Soon shattered from the forever smoking and drinking, that didn't stop.

Dreams Don't Always Come True

I wanted to look up to her, but all I saw was a failure. I didn't know the dream and where it could have taken her without the weight of her young mistakes. The children she carried on her side. Raising a beautiful family. My brothers have different fathers. Meaning I am an only child technically. I grew up not know there was a difference. Oh, those boys were talented. They could play the strings of a guitar or draw your heaven. It didn't matter; each blessed with the gift of musical attributes and exquisite intelligence. Oh, and how handsome, all with solid jaw downs, dark eyes and hair; there I am, blonde and petite unlike any of them.

On Stage

I remember bar-hopping with her. Not because I wanted to. I was only maybe ten years old. Standing on the stage, just a few feet above the filthy barroom floor. I was shy. Just barely able to whisper into the mic to say good night. This was hours after we had been in the old motel in the middle of nowhere. A run-down one-horse, hick town drew out the people who reak old bottles in the dirtiest depot. The room smelled like a community lunch kitchen, but the stench of cigarette smoke filled the tall deep dark ceilings. The bar was dingy and kind of cold. But there were we. My two older brothers on bass and on guitar, my mother, and some boyfriend of hers. And the drummer.

The Night Before A Show

We spent time before the big show getting ready. I wore a silver crush velvet short tight dress with a collar on it. It was modern and flashy for the young '90s. I even put on some of my mother's lipstick before we went. I was merely a little girl at this time.

My mother usually ended up having a few drinks through the course of any given night, leading to severe inebriation. It was embarrassing. And as I stood on that stage in that going nowhere town, I was in awe. It was what I was using to.

Dirty drunk old men were the highlight, coming on to my ever so pretty mother. Her boyfriend was a hippy, and I wouldn't consider what they were doing to be professional. None the less it was entertaining to the bar folk and waitresses. Until someone got too drunk. Either throwing up on something or even passing out, maybe ending up shirtless.

Dreams Rivitalized

I watched her dreams die right in front of me. I watched how ugly people can be, and I learned one thing above all;

My mother is strong—the kind of strength that no matter what, she will get by. I started to see that these horrible situations were not that at all. They were the product of a limitless lust for art and a passion for music. She was, above all-- Brilliant. She has a gift. And although today she didn't become the famous rockstar she wished. She did become the lesson I learned in life. Dreams die when you don't try.

You have never failed until you give up.

Many years later, despite not having the musical talent of my family, I teach children child songs, like the alphabet. Seem's silly, but the truth is every time the children bloom a little, I see the aspiration and dreams in their eye's being born. She may have died, but her dreams live on every time someone is inspired by her. Even if it's precariously through me.

This way, the Dream Lives On...

Opal

immediate family
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About the Creator

Opal A Roszell

Promoting Social & Emotional Growth in Online Communities. Content Creator for hire [email protected].

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