Black Gold

A song comes to mind this morning, as I heat up the mug in the microwave.  I am not sure why I remember this song from so long ago, when I was no more than 7 years old.  One of my sisters,  4 years older, was in the 5th grade chorus at Hamilton Elementary School.  The group sang this song during their Winter show. I remember going that cold night and sitting all snug and warm between both of my parents. That was unusual; Dad traveled for work and missed a lot of these events.  The chorus performed for quite a while.  Of all the pieces they presented, the only one I remember is this little ditty:

Coffee is Not for Me


Coffee is not for me.

It’s a drink some people wake up with.

That it makes them nervous is no myth.

Slaves to a coffee cup.

They can’t give coffee up!

I remember smiling throughout the entire piece, done in round, and the crowd erupting in applause at the end of the song.  We talked about this one on the way home from the concert that night, too.

I asked my sister a few years ago if she remembered that concert from more than 40 years ago, and especially whether she remembered the song.  Since she had no recollection, I sang it for her.  Still Nothing. Unless you include  that  you-are-kidding-me look she tossed my way.

It’s funny the little things we remember from different moments of our lives.  I went to Catholic schools, and never had the opportunity to sing in a chorus. Isn’t it curious, then, that I remember  this  from so long ago…

There is a special something about this.  Perhaps  the sense of pride I surely felt watching my sister up on stage with her classmates. No easy feat for someone with CP at that time. Or the sense of pride I could feel coming from my parents.  Perhaps it’s that, to this day, the smell of coffee takes me back to another place and time.

A comfortable place.

A loving place.

A warm and snug place…



Thanks, Andrew, for the memories…


©Maribeth Batcho

All Rights Reserved.


Tu M’énerves

Tu m’énerves.

Yes, you.  You big bully.  YOU.

Hey you, down there. Are you listening?  I’m talking to you.

You think you are so great because you are the biggest and baddest and boldest of the bunch.

You creep.  You slither and slide sight unseen.  Wrap your long tentacles around your unsuspecting victim.                                                                                                                                          S-l-o-w-l-y… gently… At first.

Yo, Brute!   You don’t have permission to kick me in the knee  and  stomp on my foot.  To push me down.  I am just an observer, sitting on the sidelines.

Then YOU come along.

How Irritating.  You make it impossible to think of anything else.  When I sit, YOU  come to mind.   Preparing dinner, and there YOU are again.  Relax with a good book,  and who appears?  Roll over in bed. YOU,  AGAIN! What is this, some long-standing joke?

Hey Life-Disrupter! Don’t you have anything better to do?

Yes, I’m talking to you.  You there,  You Vile Vise.


You. are. on. My. NERVE.

My very last one.

You are nothing but a



in the

Butt. Buttocks.  Bottom.  Bum.  Tush.  Gluteous Maximus.

Oh, you…

Sciatic,  YOU better change your ways!



She Hasn’t, Not Yet

She hasn’t come to me.  Not yet. 

Friday will be exactly 6 months since she left.  I thought she would have visited by now, but she hasn’t. No, not yet.

I keep thinking and wondering about it, trying to understand why.  Why?  WHY hasn’t she come to me?

Does she not  want to come back?  It would not be  fair of me to be upset with her for that when  horrible anger and chaos surrounded her departure. Anger that she questioned but didn’t understand. Anger and chaos that was undeserved.  Is this it?  Is this why she hasn’t come?   Yet.  

Or is it something else? Has she not come yet  because of her own anger and disappointment at the way things ended, knowing how hard she worked, how loving and supportive she was, but not have that returned to her in the end?  Or is she waiting to see if I can–we can– figure this out  before she comes?

Not yet.  When?  When will she  come?  When I am more present?  When things are settled?  When I am not feeling pain because she hasn’t come yet?  When I don’t expect to hear her?  WHEN?

This is as it is supposed to be, I know.  She hasn’t come, not yet.   For now.

For now, I have to be satisfied with sending her messages through the universe, knowing they will reach her heart…

May you be filled with lovingkindness.

May you be safe and happy.

May you be well.

May you be peaceful and at ease.

My message has been sent.  It is out there in the universe for her to hear.   For now,  she has not come.  Not yet. 

But she will.