I stated this blog as an outlet for all the stories of my
songs. My best friend gave me the idea… she said something like “you have a
story for every song you hear. You should write them all down.” So several
years ago, I started doing just that. Eventually I moved them over to public
web format. I started writing all the memories associated with all the songs to
the soundtrack of my life. Hence the memories in auralmemories.
Some songs have such a strong hold on my hippocampus that it’s
almost as if I time travel. I can feel my posture and mood change, my mind
reverts back to 22 or 4 or 12 and I am right where I was when this or that song
imprinted itself upon me. I think for other people this happens with other things…
maybe with foodies; they taste something and they are back where they were the
first time they had fois gras, or maybe a fisherman finds himself back beside
his father as a child whenever he catches a certain type of bass. Me, when I hear certain songs,
I time travel. Not all the memories are good, obviously. There are certain
songs that are tied so intensely to certain people or events that they are on
my ipod/spotify permanent ban list. There are some songs that invoke such a
strong reaction from me that I know better to listen to them in public, lest I cry
for joy or find myself wiggling and dancing in my seat, not unlike having a
seizure. (I had to create a special playlist on my spotify for such songs,
because I knew if they ever popped up on my list, they would basically cause me
to embarrass myself in public.)
A couple years ago I made the switch from Song Stories to
show reviews. Sometimes other editorial nonsense re: my depression pops up (one year ago today.. perhaps I have a pattern?), but
otherwise, it would appear I have all but dismissed the stories of the songs. And
I find myself more and more drawn to these stories. Perhaps it’s because I have
been spending so much time compiling my memoirs into a novel and so many of
these song-stories comprise so much of the tale that I find myself compulsively
writing this to you now.
This morning was the first morning this season I have been
able to comfortably wear a skirt and not feel like I am freezing to death. Recent
health issues have found me at my all time lowest weight and struggling with
anemia. Basically I am freezing. Always. The forecast called for mid to upper
90s today in the triangle, so I decided I would struggle through the first few
hours of the day to revel in the heat this afternoon on my daily routine of
sitting outside Morning Times with a good puzzle and a great coffee drink and
feeling one of my favorite feelings in the world… Sweat. I never get to sweat. Even
when I was heavier, I was always cold-natured. And now, as a frighteningly
underweight mid 30s gal, I never get to sweat (and no. I don’t exercise. I can’t
and I won’t... Not getting into that.) So I adore summertime. I adore humidity
and direct sunlight. I’ve had my family and certain friends joke that I am like
a cat, I will always find the place to sit and be where there is one blazing
hot beam of sunlight directly on me. Wonderful!!! The best days are when I am wearing
a skirt, blasting my headphones and I’m in a good groove on a challenging
puzzle then… victory…! That first roll of sweat that runs from behind my
crossed knee down my leg. Sublime. …Yeah… I’m weird.
How this is related: my first spring away at college. I was
homesick as it was, I was sick of cold as well. I hate winter. I will most
likely when I reach the appropriate age, be one of those old folks that retire
to Florida, if not further south. I despise being cold. So somewhere in the
spring of my freshman year, I was 16 (yes, I was early) and I had discovered a
fabulous new distraction – the World Wide Web! My parents had just signed up
for AOL at the house. It was baffling to me. When I got back to school after Christmas
break, I had found it necessary to use one of the many computer labs on campus
for a paper. (This was before anyone had personal computers, really. I think
there was one girl in our entire dorm that has a desktop.) As I typed up my
paper, I realized there was a girl beside me using some sort of text only
program to seemingly chat with someone. She explained it to me and I started
using it myself. I can’t even begin to remember what it was called, I am pretty
sure it was some infant stage of mIRC, completely DOS based and was only
reachable with a series of typed commands that ended with typing in “xyzzy”…
(this was ‘95/’96, btw.) So that’s what I called it…. xyzzy.(the current net has little resources on this, but i know it existed. the only things popping up with a xyzzy google search now has something to do with minecraft?)
For me; struggling with homesickness, self image issues,
blossoming mental issues; this chat-world was a divine escape. (This all
coincides with the basis for a big part of my memoirs, so I won’t go too in
depth because I want you all to read my book one day.) But what had happened was
this… the first boy I ever loved, I never met. I’ve told the story here before,which you can read as a summation to the experiences that lead to these memories.
Basically in between classes, I would I would sit in the
labs and kill time on this chat program, talking about U2 or books or whatever…
waiting for and subsequently responding to his emails. We would write novellas. I printed every email. They were
like sacred texts to me. I would carry them around with me and re-read them
over and over, about how he had gone to work as a waiter after class and came
home to listen to Fugazi (*swoon*) or describe the sandwich he had for lunch…
(*sigh!*)… we were disgustingly smitten with each other. It wasn’t
until weeks into it all that I ever even saw a photo of him, albeit pixilated and almost inscrutable. I didn’t even care. He was
a shaggy, blonde adorable blue eyed California boy with dimples… way out of my
league, but it never even occurred to me that it would be an issue. We made
plans to run away together every other day…. Even now, 20 something years
later, I wouldn’t know him if he slapped me in the face. But that love, it was
one of the first and truest things I’d ever felt in my life. It’s the most pure
and perfect memory of love that I have, it’s the basis for all things. Nothing can
touch it, nothing will erase it. Surely by now he’s married with a brood of
children. I hope that he is, I send him all my love and blessings… he gave
me the greatest story I know to tell.
So how this is all related to Fleetwood Mac.
My parents gave me a very limited budget. I had a 10 meal,
meal plan for each week and I was given an allowance of $20 a week. As a smoker
and coffee addict (some things never change), this was a difficult lifestyle. But
I managed. I traded cds with the local shop, CD Alley (doesn't appear this still exists in Greenville. Sad.) Somehow, somewhere in
there, I found myself with a used copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Greatest Hits… the
green album. And I played the hell out of it. Not entirely sure why, but
something about it resonated with me. Some sort of passion or serenity or wispy
loveliness. I would sit in the lab, for hours, writing him novella emails
about my roommate or the sunlight on my shoulders or whatever it happened to be
at the time and “Sara” would be blasting in my ear holes and I was the happiest
I had ever been in my thus short life. He and I would email each other “suggested
listening” for our emails… James Taylor, Nat king Cole, stuff like that. I think
I remember once telling him to listen to “Everywhere” for one such email. When I
hear those first twinkly notes… that little bit of magic swirling around before
the melody starts, I always think of him.
When I hear certain songs from this album, I am 17ish, I am fat
and awkward and I don’t care because I am loved by a boy I’ll never meet and he
cares what I had for lunch and what shoes I’m wearing today. Sometimes when I get
discouraged about never finding “the love of my life” or that the right person
isn’t out there for me, I remember this boy and I hear the right Fleetwood Mac
song and I am blissfully ignorant of the pain to come and anything is possible.
I don’t listen to this album too much because sometimes that
level of bittersweet is overbearing. But this morning, I am indulging myself. I’m
letting myself remember and just letting it be what it was. A quirky girl and a
sweet, gentle boy falling in love to the soundtrack to smooth 70s soft rock on
opposite sides of the country.
all my love to you, wherever you are, kid.
