Ah, music. How just the sound of a song can take you back to a particular time and place.
Yesterday, SS and I were talking about . . . something . . . and it reminded her of the song, These Boots Are Made For Walkin’, and I started to sing the song. I could hear it so clearly in my head, and I was four or five years old again, in my memory. I had to smile, and then I downloaded the album, Boots, by Nancy Sinatra. Go ahead; listen to some of the samples of some of the songs. If you’re close to my age, that sixties sound will be familiar and I hope will take you back to pleasant memories. If you’re quite a bit younger than I am, or young enough that your parents are close to my age, you’ll probably be rolling your eyes and laughing. My sister showed this picture to her husband this morning after I emailed it to her and he made a joke about her stylish clothes. She said to him, “Hey, don’t talk. All your childhood pictures have people with beehive hairdos!”
But man, what great memories that album brings back for me. Sister had it and played it fairly often. The Amazon page I linked to above says it was originally released in 1966. This picture is from 1968. Sister had just turned 11 and I was 4 1/2. See her boots? Aren’t they cool? I grew up following her around like a puppy, adoring her and thinking she was just the coolest human being ever. She’s still one of my very favorite people.
After I downloaded the album, I played some of the songs and couldn’t stop grinning and dancing in my chair. I remember, especially when hearing the music at the end of These Boots, after she says “Are you ready, boots? Start walkin’”, standing in our living room with Sister and doing The Pony and The Swim. Anybody remember those dances?
I especially remember the part of The Swim, where you hold your nose and raise your other arm above your head and “go under the water”. I loved that part. I could really wiggle those hips when I was little. Or at least I thought I could.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
And in other news, I wrote my first 1733 words of NaNo this morning between midnight and 1:10 am. Woot! Woot!
There are a few different regular UPS drivers who deliver to the office where I work. One of them is a guy who used to be the regular UPS guy for the place I worked back in the mid-to-late-80’s. I don’t think he remembers me from back then because I’m quite a bit older now, but I remember him because he hasn’t changed a bit. Seriously. Like the way Dick Clark didn’t change for so many years. It’s almost creepy.
When he delivered a package yesterday, I got to thinking about just how many years ago it was that he used to deliver to the other office, and how much has changed. Twenty years ago, in 1989, I was 25.
In 1989:
My hair was still dark even without my dying it.
I weighed (muffled, unintelligible word) pounds less than I do now. I wasn’t “thin”, but I weighed a whole lot less.
I had no arthritis and no symptoms of fibromyalgia (other than depression, which is related, but then again, is related to everything I deal with).
I was able to sit with my foot under me in my chair at work.
I still smoked.
My migraines hadn’t started yet.
I had a lot of sinus trouble.
I wore aqua-colored contact lenses, which prompted a lot of compliments, but I always felt I was cheating, since the compliments weren’t for my real eye color, and I went back to clear lenses.
I used to occasionally wear heels to work, but I never got the hang of walking in them, so I eventually blamed my height (I was about 5′11″ at the time) and quit trying to wear them.
I wore makeup at least a few times a week then.
I smoked pot. A lot.
I had been in love with my best friend for five years and finally admitted it.
I came out.
I still had my small, old, black and white TV from when I was a teenager, but it never bothered me that I couldn’t watch TV in color. Even though it seemed to bother my friends.
I was still years away from knowing what gluten was, let alone that I shouldn’t eat it.
I ate a lot of Whoppers back then.
Burger King Whoppers, not the malted milk balls, although those are also a no-no on a gluten free diet.
I’d felt the loss of a pet, a year or so before that, when I had to have my beloved cat, Indigo, put to sleep.
I didn’t know, yet, what it felt like to have a relationship, or a breakup.
My parents were still young and the looming reality that I will have to say goodbye to them one day was not part of my daily ruminations yet.
I had no idea that within a year, I would begin a relationship that would change the lives of everyone in my immediate family, in ways I would not have believed, had I been given a glimpse into the future.
I’d been in counseling before (may have even been in counseling that year) but I’d never stuck around long enough to call it therapy, or to make the kind of progress I’ve made this last year.
I did not know that I had Adult ADD.
I thought I knew what fatigue was then. I had no idea it could get so much worse.
I thought I had a clutter problem then. See second sentence of the point above.
I’d heard of Microsoft Windows but had never seen a computer with it installed.
My niece and nephews were all under seven. They’re all grown up now, and have spouses or fiances; the boys both have either children or a child on the way.
I didn’t know any of my three closest local friends yet. I have been getting back in touch with some of my older friends on facebook lately, though, which is nice, but I’m not in touch with the two friends I was the closest with, back then.
I thought I would never lose touch with many of the people who were in my life at the time.
I had no idea that SS existed, or that my life wouldn’t begin to be lived with the depth of feeling that I’m seeing is possible until my hair turned silver.
Yes. A lot has changed.
I should ask the UPS Guy how many things have changed in his life.
Mom called earlier to say that Dad had chest pain and they went to the Emergency Room. The pain disappeared once they got there, and the tests have been showing nothing wrong, but they admitted him and are keeping him overnight due to his age. He’s 79.
Of course, I know that if the tests are coming back good and the pain is gone, things are really likely to turn out fine, but of course, I still worry.
I’ll be going to see him after work and I’ll drive Mom home. Then I imagine I’ll take her back in the morning before I come back to work. We should know more by then.
It’s always hard to get back into the normal routine after a long holiday weekend, but today it was particularly hard. I got to work this morning and couldn’t remember very much of last week. It felt as if I’d been away for a couple weeks.
That is probably because the wedding occupied the minds of everyone in my family for so long. It was a long day, Saturday, but it sure did turn out beautifully, in spite of all the things that didn’t go according to plan. My sister did such an amazing job. She’s a wedding planner and a minister and does this all the time for people, but this was her son’s wedding, so of course there was a whole extra special layer to it. My new niece-in law (is there actually a proper term for one’s nephew’s wife?) is from The Philippines, and my sister incorporated some Filipino traditions into the ceremony. That was very cool.
It was sometime Monday before my feet, legs, and lower back stopped hurting enough to walk right again, but I’m really glad I was able to help with the setup and cleanup. My mother and sister both overdo, and my mother’s fibromyalgia is about a hundred times worse than mine, so I was glad to at least be able to take some of the burden from her shoulders. I learned that next time, though, I need to wear working clothes and sneakers and change into my nicer clothes before the wedding, then back into working clothes again later. Or at least sneakers. I should have known better than to expect to work in wedge shoes when my feet are used to all-sneakers-all-the-time. Or no shoes at all (or slippers) at home, but sneakers if I’m going to be spending any time at all on my feet.
It didn’t seem that I had quite the same length of paying-for-it time that I used to have after doing something strenuous, which was a big relief, especially since the wedding fell right into the worst week of my PMDD time. A few years ago, I would never have made it. So, progress. And I didn’t get glutened, even though I helped with some of the food. Lots of reasons to be happy.
Sunday and Monday, I did some more fear-facing that I may write about at some point. It was (and still is) a hard thing for me, but I’m doing ok, and the fact that I made some of the decisions that I made is huge. Decisions about trusting someone in ways I never quite have with anyone else, ever. Big stuff.
And so, having added that cryptic rambling, I have summed up my weekend.
And now I’m back at work, and Tuesday feels like a Monday, and I got a very loving care package in the mail today, and I actually have accomplished some things at work.
Slowly, I’m remembering my job and how to do it as the Holiday Amnesia lifts.
I’m so glad I made it to the rehearsal yesterday. I tried taking “practice” pictures with both Sister’s camera and Mom’s, and it turns out I’m much more comfortable with Mom’s.
The two ring-bearers and the flower girl, who is two, were amusing. After the bridesmaids and groomsmen (the little kids’ father is one of the groomsmen) practiced walking down the aisle, the kids’ mom said to them, “Walk toward Daddy. He has candy,” and all three of them took off running toward their dad. He did have candy for them, of course, and he will again, today.
I hope everything goes well. I looked up the weather report for today in the town where the wedding will be, and it said the high should be 90º with thunderstorms. That’s pretty much Summer In Florida, however it’s an outdoor wedding in a park. Fingers crossed that the thunderstorms will hold off long enough for the wedding to take place.
My youngest nephew is getting married Saturday (I’m posting this entry just after midnight Thursday, but technically it’s Friday now and I can say the wedding is tomorrow). I’m going to be taking the pictures. It’s going to be fun, but I’m also nervous because I’m not a professional, or even a skilled, photographer. I’ll be using Sister’s digital camera, which is a point-and-shoot type camera that won’t require a steep learning curve for me.
The rehearsal is Friday at 5:00 in a town that is about an hour and 15 minutes away from where I work. I normally work until 5:00, but I emailed Boss to ask if I can leave at 3:00. I didn’t think I would need to go to the rehearsal until I spoke with Sister tonight (Thursday night) to have her read me the list of photos I need to remember to take, in the order they will happen. I asked her where I should stand to take some of the ceremony pictures, so I won’t be getting in the way but can still get the shots without other people blocking my view, and she said she didn’t know. That was when I realized that I really need to be at the rehearsal. I hope Boss says it’s ok to leave early.
I’m really pleased with how I did my list, though. I made a table in Word with three columns and three rows, then copied and pasted parts of the list into each cell and printed it. I folded it accordian-style so that only one cell shows at a time and it’s small enough to keep in my palm while I take the pictures, and I’ll just flip to the next cell as I progress.
I’m taking deep breaths, hoping I can do a good job for the kids . . . and hoping I can give them some beautiful photos to cherish.
My mom said something yesterday when we were talking on the phone that made me feel very good. She said, “I don’t think you even realize how strong you are,” and she went on to say how, when I was a little kid, I went through a stage where I clung to her and she wondered if I would ever be able to do anything on my own, but that I soon grew out of that stage and went on to impress her with how strong I became.
She spoke about how, when I was five and a half and was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer, I stuck to the bland diet the doctor put me on (for a year and a half!) and matter-of-factly said “No, thank you” to chocolate cake and Coca Cola at birthday parties and never seemed tempted to change my mind. (It didn’t actually take much will-power, though; I remember the nightmares I used to have of being stabbed in the stomach with a sharp pencil when the ulcer was at its worst. It wasn’t tempting to eat anything that would bring back that kind of pain.) She compares the way I faced the ulcer diet with the way I have taken on the gluten free diet, but again, what she sees as will-power is essentially fear of causing myself to feel the way gluten makes me feel (it’s not just physical; it also affects my mental and emotional and cognative abilities and basically makes life hell for days).
But it’s still nice to hear that I’m seen as strong. In fact, it’s a beautiful thing to hear. (Shameless NaBloPoMo theme tie-in completely intended.)
I got this idea from Kate1975’s Blog, and I think it’s a great self-care idea, albeit not always easy. I decided to create my own Bliss List that I can refer back to when I need to feel that rush of “happy” brain chemicals that comes from thinking of those things that bring bliss.
So, other than chocolate (which I am not denying causes bliss as I purposely leave it off my list anyway because a big part of my reason for creating this list right now is to use it as an alternative to using food for comfort) and my family and friends, with whom I always find comfort and healthy laughter, here are the first three items on my Bliss List, which is not in a specific order:
1. My Emily
2. That shade-family of blue that is a variation of turquoise, aqua, neon blue, and electric blue
All the pondering I’ve done about what it is that I need or want that I’ve been trying to satisfy with food came to a halt when I read my own words, describing the craving as feeling like a child desperate for attention and my overeating as a way to push that child into submission and silence. I thought, Duh. Could it be the child-part of me, needing my attention?
I talked with Sister when I saw her last night, and wondered aloud what sort of attention the child-part of me could need. What could I do that would make that child-part feel appreciated, acknowledged, paid-attention-to?
“Have fun?” I asked, feeling like the kid who got the pop-quiz answer right, expecting Sister to tap her nose like they do in Charades.
Ok. So.
It was actually synchronistic that I saw Sister last night. She’d emailed in the morning to say her cell phone wasn’t working. She and Mom and I are on one plan together. On my lunch hour, I went to the local store near where I work, described the message she was getting, and asked what we needed to do. She had a bad sim card, they said, and because there isn’t a store local to where she lives and works in another county, they gave me a new sim card for her. We met after work at the Outback Restaurant that is about halfway between, and we had dinner.
I did really well on my IF Ratings during dinner. I had a small steak, sweet potato, and seasonal veggies (broccoli, summer squash, carrots, and snap peas), and then we shared a brownie sundae (not so good on the IF ratings, but worth it), mainly because I just get so tickled at being able to have a brownie sundae in public (it’s gluten free!).
As I was thinking about how to go about having fun and amusing my inner child, I commented that said child was enjoying that sundae. Then it occurred to me that it wouldn’t always be a good idea to have a sundae as a way of amusing my inner child if the purpose of amusing my inner child were to not use food to make her be quiet.
I told Sister about my therapist asking me what other ways I could comfort myself, other than using comfort food. I had a hard time with that one, but I brought up that I often comfort myself by watching TV (the mindlessness of my viewing habits varying in direct relation to how stressed or depressed I am). But, I realized, I often eat while I watch TV and I associate the two pretty strongly.
But I figured it out last night.
I’m going to buy a coloring book and crayons, and when I’m watching TV and the child starts to tug at my sleeve, we’re going to color.
I’m reading Eats, Shoots, & Leaves, and I was talking with Sister about it. Although the book is specifically about punctuation, we got to talking about grammar and sentence structure as well, and wondering why there are so many people close to our ages who went to school in the same state we did, who managed to come away with very little understanding of how to write a sentence. (I am very aware, now, that by mentioning my opinion that I have decent grammar and punctuation skills compared to many others, I’m putting a magnifying glass on any mistakes I make . . . *cringe*.)
I pointed out, to Sister, that we went to school in other states before moving here, and that those other schools were quite advanced compared to the education system here at that time (I don’t know how it compares to the rest of the country now). I pointed out that I was about halfway through the second grade when we moved here, and that I was in the seventh grade before there was any material to speak of that really felt “new” to me. Then I added that we also had the benefit of our mother’s teaching as kids. She read with us, made up learning games, and she shared her love of writing with us. She uses proper grammar when she speaks, especially with children, so she was a good example to us while we were growing up (although I do use improper grammer way more often than she ever does, but the good part is I realize what is wrong about it).
Well, having that discussion with Sister reminded me of a conversation with my therapist several months back. I’d said something, referring to “my stupider moments”, without realizing I’d used the word “stupider” until my therapist repeated it back to me and asked how I could have said that differently. She was looking for an answer that was not so judgmental of myself, but in the second or two that it took for me to realize what she really meant, I almost said, “Oh. Yeah. ’More stupid’.”
Ah, music. How just the sound of a song can take you back to a particular time and place.
There are a few different regular UPS drivers who deliver to the office where I work. One of them is a guy who used to be the regular UPS guy for the place I worked back in the mid-to-late-80’s. I don’t think he remembers me from back then because I’m quite a bit older now, but I remember him because he hasn’t changed a bit. Seriously. Like the way 
My youngest nephew is getting married Saturday (I’m posting this entry just after midnight Thursday, but technically it’s Friday now and I can say the wedding is tomorrow). I’m going to be taking the pictures. It’s going to be fun, but I’m also nervous because I’m not a professional, or even a skilled, photographer. I’ll be using Sister’s digital camera, which is a point-and-shoot type camera that won’t require a steep learning curve for me.
She spoke about how, when I was five and a half and was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer, I stuck to the bland diet the doctor put me on (for a year and a half!) and matter-of-factly said “No, thank you” to chocolate cake and Coca Cola at birthday parties and never seemed tempted to change my mind. (It didn’t actually take much will-power, though; I remember the nightmares I used to have of being stabbed in the stomach with a sharp pencil when the ulcer was at its worst. It wasn’t tempting to eat anything that would bring back that kind of pain.) She compares the way I faced the ulcer diet with the way I have taken on the gluten free diet, but again, what she sees as will-power is essentially fear of causing myself to feel the way gluten makes me feel (it’s not just physical; it also affects my mental and emotional and cognative abilities and basically makes life hell for days).
