Old and Moldies?

I’m pretty sure this can’t last forever, but for now I LOVE everything. Seriously. Bear brings in lilac branches I don’t think, “You stupid dog. Now I have to clean up after you.” I think, “Oh, lilac branches.” I’ve been rejuvenated by my hip replacement.

One of my small pleasures (sometimes not so small) is listening to a radio station from San Diego every Sunday morning. The program? “Legends of Alternative.” I’ve written about it before. It’s really and truly one of the absolutely LEAST important things happening the world today (or any day). The DJ, a Brit named Steve West, was the DJ of my favorite radio station (91X) back in the 80s/90s. I listened to him every day on my drive home from school — he had the afternoon slot. I can’t hear his voice without imagining the loop from College onto the I-8 West and the trip home. For a time, home was in Hillcrest, a block from Balboa Park. Later home was in City Heights, a sketchy neighborhood where some of my friends and/or colleagues wouldn’t park their cars.

A lot’s happened in the thirty years and it’s not like I can’t listen to the same music via any number of free or paid streaming platforms through my phone. Huh? In 1985 such a thought was — well, there was no such thought. I just sat in front of my Amiga trying to write stories and ending up writing letters to people I could’ve called on the phone or met for coffee (I wanted a Mac like the one belonging to a neighbor; he’d let me borrow it for a month) but the ex, (a programmer for Convair) was more impressed by the Amiga which just shows you shouldn’t always listen to experts.

He’s no longer on 91X but has moved over to their competitor, 94.9.

From time to time, via the medium of Facebook, I request a song. Steve West invariably plays it and mentions “Martha in the little town of Monte Vista, Colorado” and like a 7th grader I’m thrilled. The song is usually what Tracy from “Reflections of an Untidy Mind” has very accurately identified as my “Anthem.” It’s not like I don’t have various recordings of this song (CD, cassette tape [yes, really]) but I like hearing it on the radio. I also like the fact that the first time I heard the song it was spun on a turntable by this self-same Steve West back in 1986. And, he loves the song. What could be better? He’s even played various mixes for me. Yeah, 7th grader…

It’s a silly Sunday ritual but a sweet one. One old song after the other comes out of my speakers and I savor the nostalgia or wince at the horror, depending. He has a slight predilection for the more cheerful songs of the era, Morrissey excepted. He seems to think that Ministry was a better band before they went all “dark and industrial” (I disagree) but from time to time he’ll play a legit punk song, usually something familiar to people, like “God Save the Queen.” That’s OK. I know the truth. I heard his interviews with Johnny Rotten and Jello Biafra.

Meanwhile, back to the slowly reduced number of chores on the “escalator of life” out here in the “wild, wild west.”

 

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/06/24/rdp-july-1/

17 thoughts on “Old and Moldies?

  1. Arn’t those memories just wonderful? I am so glad everything is going great for you, a new hip, the dogs are back, and the right background music.

  2. It is amazing how a major event in your life changes your entire outlook. Sometimes forever, sometimes we revert, but it is a joyous moment in time. You have so much to look forward to. I can’t wait to see pics of you climbing and wandering new paths you’ve spoken about. Love it. Happy for you! Indeed!

  3. Yay! It sounds as if you’ve shaken the depression that came along with your pain, and life is once again looking good, as it should! May and June have been great months for you — I hope it continues that way!

  4. This brought a smile to my face, Martha. In the good old days, when I listened to the gardening show on the radio on Saturday mornings, there would be the regulars that called in, and we would all look forward to hearing about their progress in the garden. Such a community feel. It is a bit like your hip updates.

    • She loves that spot. I do feel good. We took a walk this evening. On the way home I felt something was missing and realized it was pain. At first this evening (beautiful evening) I didn’t want to walk her. Then I thought, “Why not?” and the “why not” was that my life before now was habitually, unconsciously centered on how much pain I could take. Now it’s just a walk. And Bear keeps pace with me which is — at the moment — pretty slow. Thanks for talking me into her. ❤

      • Your ability to analyze your feelings and reactions is really impressive — and probably a good part of the reason that you have made such a good recovery! Realizing that the “why not” was a past reason that no longer exists is something not everybody can do — and acting accordingly is even more difficult! It’s good, too, that Bear follows your pace — she will be a wonderful help to you, and you’ll continue to heal even more quickly than you have been! Would that everybody could think it all through and heal as well as you.

      • I think many people do not want something beyond pain relief. This is an idea I got from my doc after our first meeting when suddenly he realized I wanted to run. At first he was talking (kindly) to a generic older lady then it was like a light went on for him. It helps so much to be understood ❤️

      • You were fortunate to have such great support from everybody you came in contact with — and to be able to analyze all that you were hearing/feeling! Not everybody has those pluses as they go through such surgeries!

      • that’s why I’m so grateful. One thing about living in the Wild West is that we really truly concretely legitimately NEED each other. More than half of what’s accomplished out here is because someone steps up to do it. Last evening on our walk, Bear and I watched a family at the high school. The wife was weeding the garden. The husband and sun were painting new signage on the entries to the parking lot and new stripes on the crosswalk.

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