Pennies From Heaven, or, Songs I Used To Sing For Grandpa

My grandfather and I used to go on walks around his neighborhood.

At one point, he’d taught me to sing the song “Pennies From Heaven”, and sometimes we’d sing it together while on these little walks. This is, among other memories only featuring my grandparents, one of the only good memories I have from my childhood. Honestly, if you ask, most of the good memories I have of my childhood revolve around them. Whether it’s sitting with my grandmother and cracking walnuts or watching TV with them late into the night, they seem to be the only constant in my “good” childhood memories. When they died, so did anything really good in my life, and that’s been kind of hard to reconcile with.

I tried so hard to search for new things to make me happy. Art, media of any kind, love from another person, but in the end, none of it, especially after a good chunk of years, did the trick. At least not to the extent that they had done. But then, I realized recently, I was so obsessed with the best times and the worst times (IE; the rest of my life) that I was forgetting that I could make new best times. It’s not like there’s an expiration date on happiness. It isn’t something that goes bad if left unattended too long in the fridge. You can always make new happy memories, given the right circumstances.

I think I’m often so damn depressed that I forget I can still be happy, and I think I sometimes feel like if I DO find myself feeling happy that I then must’ve been faking my sadness, but that’s ridiculous. Nobody is unhappy 24/7, not even me. I mean, it’s close, but it’s not 24/7. But yeah, I’m in the market for some joy. It’s time to start feeling a lot better, even if my new happy memories don’t include my grandparents. By fixating on them, the time I spent with them, so often, I am doing myself a disservice. I’m not allowing myself to grow and make new happy memories. It’s hard, sometimes, to be happy…especially given my living situation (about to be homeless, so if you wanna help my girlfriend and I fight that, we have a gofundme) and financial standings, but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. You have to first learn to take happiness in small chunks, where you can find it, whether that’s a meal with someone you love or a book you’re enjoying or simply just cleaning up your living area because a disheveled living area can make you feel disheveled by proximity. Or…in my grandfathers idea, it can be a song about pennies.

I haven’t listened to Pennies From Heaven in almost 15 years at the most now, I bet, if not longer. I don’t know that I could, honestly. It feels like it was from a time that I don’t have access to anymore, that it’s been somehow locked away from me. Even though I know how easy it would be to listen to it; I’d simply go to youtube or open spotify and I’m sure within seconds, a few keystrokes, I’d have it at my command, but…if I am going to try and move forward, then why look back? I need to associate new music with new memories, not be stuck with old music from old memories. Wallowing in the music from that time period doesn’t do anything from me. I have the memories. I don’t need the music. Maybe one day I will listen to Pennies From Heaven again.

Maybe one day I will listen to Pennies From Heaven with my own children, or my own grandchildren.

And I’ll be happy.

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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!


There’s No Room For Me

I can remember every single room I’ve ever been in.

It doesn’t matter where it was; family members room, friends room, my room, parents room, classroom, etc. Any room. Not even bedrooms, either, no, it extends to bathrooms, kitchens, garages. It doesn’t matter. If there was a room and I was in it, I can recall every single detail about it down to the rivets in the goddamned floorboards. What’s really “funny” about this is that I actually have a rather sketchy memory. A lot of my adolescence I’ve actually blocked for my own sake and then there’s just a lot I don’t remember in general, but I can remember every. single. fucking. room.

I’m sentimental, that much has been made abundantly clear from this blog by this point I’d think, but even so, I’m amazed at what I can recall. For a major example, one of the few friends I had growing up, his mother was an apartment manager and they moved around the city alot, which meant he wound up occupying multiple bedrooms in multiple apartments and all within a 3 or 4 year radius. I remember every single one. I remember the one overlooking the parking lot and the dumpsters with the big window, I remember the one right by the pool that was essentially filled with nothing but his futon bed, and I remember the one in the small house they rented when we first met. I remember them all.

And yet, despite all of this, I have never once felt at home in any one of them. How sad is that? A lifetime of rooms, even my own bedrooms, and I have never once felt at home in any of them. Maybe one day I will find my room. Maybe I won’t. Who knows. All I DO know is that I can remember these rooms better than I can remember relatives I knew for years or ‘friends’ I’d had forever. Voices. Faces. All lost to time. Rooms, though, rooms are the constant.

I think it’s because a room is something you yourself occupy; your energy, your space, and so you’re fit to remember it, even if it isn’t your own room. So, for the sake of some transparency for once, here’s some of my old rooms. Enjoy.