Does everyone attach theme songs to memories?

I'm on Spring Break which means I quickly slip into my natural sleep cycle. Sleep about midnight. Wake about 8:30-9:00. It's lovely. Trey and I always go to bed at the same time, so on these nights I usually read or pick a podcast to listen to while I relax until about midnight while he sleeps. Last night, for some reason, a song popped into my head and I remembered the connection I had to it. So I grabbed my phone and started a list of songs that come with vivid memories. It was quickly a long list! I forgot about it until tonight's Grand Ole Opry 100 year celebration came on after Wheel of Fortune (have I mentioned that I am elderly?). 

Anyway, whilst I serenade the incredibly lucky Trey Hickman along with all the songs on this Grand Ole Opry special, I shall document the songs I listed last night and their significance. Because things like this should be written down.

"I Just Called to Say I Love You" by Stevie Wonder - For most of my childhood, or at least the parts I remember best, my mom worked nights as a telephone operator. She would get us ready for bed and go to work, then be there to wake us up in the morning to get us off to school, sleep while we were at school, and be awake when we got home. This song always reminds me of her because when it came out she would get prank calls of kids calling the operator and singing "I just called to say I love you." Kid me thought it was hysterical. Now it reminds me of having an involved, always-there mom who worked full time. She's like a superhero, y'all.

"The Cowboy Rides Away" by George Strait - My dad has always said we should play this at his funeral and I'm sure we will. When he was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis two years ago, I couldn't stop listening to this song and pre-grieving. They told him this could take his life in two years. Here we are, two years later, and he still onery and busy as ever, even if he tires out a bit sometimes. This song will always be Dad's song.

"Sand in My Boots" by Morgan Wallen - Trey and I went to Cabo during the tail-end of COVID. We took a boat tour out to find whales, and we were the only ones on the tour because...well... COVID. The captain let me pick the music. Sand in My Boots played while we saw whales and more whales and their babies, breeching. It felt like we could touch them because we were so close. This song will always take me back to that moment. 

"Victory in Jesus" Hymn - When Walter Stice led the singing at Calvary Baptist Church in Midlothian, Texas, you could be sure we would sing this song. It's Walter's song. (PS - if you're not sure, then ask a Baptist what it means to lead the singing.)

"Gin and Juice" by Snoop - Kasey Patterson had a black Eagle Talon my junior year of high school. We cruised 7th in Corsicana with this song on repeat. 

"Redneck Girl" by the Bellamy Brothers - When this played at our wedding reception, my Uncle Mark slapped Trey on the back and said, "You sure got you a redneck girl now!" This comment and song now live in infamy.

"Red Dirt Road" by Brooks and Dunn - This is Tucker's song (whether he knows it or not). When he was a baby I would dance in the living room with him while this song played on repeat. At that time I think I had a little post-partum depression and my thyroid quit on me. I remember singing that song and promising my sweet baby that even though he would grow up as a city boy I would make sure he knew what it was like to grow up like I did. He loves his Greeson family and cousins, and I love that he is comfortable in both worlds - the city and the country. 

"Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor - This is my Keaton's song. His middle name is James. He was born two weeks after my brother-in-law died. I always say that Keaton brought joy back into our family at a time of immense sadness and uncertainty. I also worried that was a lot of pressure for an itty bitty baby. He will always be my Sweet Baby James, and seeing him grow into a kind, strong man is one of the great joys of my life. 

"Drops of Jupiter" by Train - Yearbook lab. Specifically the years that Sterling Knapp was on my yearbook staff, but this song always makes me think of that lab and those great kids. I keep up with many of them on facebook or through their moms. They are now Google geniuses, fighter pilots, dance studio owners, and lots of other great things. This song will forever be the theme to my yearbook years. 

"Seven Spanish Angels" by Ray Charles and Willie Nelson - This is my Papaw's song. We sang it together while he played guitar. I remember being a little thing and realizing what a sad song it was. I think it sparked my love of a good ballad. 

"Freebird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd - This is Wendy's song. It's her song because it's Dad's song, and somehow she inherited it. I never hear without thinking of her laughing and singing at the top of her lungs. 

"Tell it to Jesus" hymn - This song belongs to my Aunt Judy. She must have helped with children's choir or something when I was little. Maybe Sunday School. I remember her teaching us that we shouldn't say things we don't mean or even sing them. That's why songs were so important - we should only sing to the Lord what we really mean. "Tell it to Jesus" has a line that asks "Are you troubled at the thought of dying?" I was a kid. I was really scared of dying. For my entire childhood I would hum that line in church because I didn't want to accidentally say I wasn't scared of dying!  (Sidenote: this rule about not singing it unless you really mean it apparently did not apply to Conway Twitty songs for me.)

"This Kiss" by Faith Hill - This song was popular when Trey and I first started dating. It makes me smile every time I hear it because it makes me feel all goofy young-love-ish. Just like I still do. ;)

"Somewhere in the World" by Wayne Watson - Donna Myrick and Jerry House sang this at our wedding as our parents entered. It's a holy reminder about my wedding and marriage and our families. This is not a song I hear randomly anymore, but if it ever comes to mind it might bring a tear. 

Keith Whitley, any songs - When my friend Britina moved away from College Station, the rest of our crew went to her house to help her pack. We had boxes everywhere, peach sangria, the Keith Whitley station on Pandora, and equal parts laughter and tears. Keith Whitley will always equal best friends. 

I'm sure there are a million more. I'm curious. Does everyone attach theme songs to memories? 

High Waisted Jeans and Other Evil Things

I am weird about clothes. Shocking, right? I seem so normal. 

If I had to describe my personal style I would use words like "flowy" and "floral." Maybe a little "bohemian" (but the Target version rather than the Anthropologie/Free People version because I am both too old and too cheap for those). 

But these are lies. My style is actually shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops. All the time. Maybe a very soft sweatshirt if it's cold.

(Sidebar: Who talks about their "style"? I suddenly feel very awkward like I take myself too seriously. I assure you, I do not.)

Anyway.

After 24 plus years of marriage, I've realized I have rules for my clothing because my husband so kindly points them out, sometimes while laughing at me. It's okay, I forgive him.

Rule #1, The Cardinal Rule, The Rule Above All Rules: I do not like clothes that touch me. 

This includes things like elastic around the sleeves (unless it's very loose), shirts with collars and buttons that lay heavily upon my chest as if to suffocate me, shirts or pants that attempt to cut me in half when I sit down, socks that leave marks, etc. 

I also cannot wear clothes that itch, scratch, are unsoft, or bunch up around my joints when I move. I really want to be a person who wears blazers, but if I wear one I can't concentrate because every time I bend my arm there is a mound of bunched fabric inside my elbow that makes me want to scream. 

The very first thing I do when I get clothes is to remove every single tag. I used to get in trouble because I would cut holes in my clothes when removing the tags, but as an adult I have become skilled at using a seam ripper, so no more holes. 

My mom must have loved me being her first daughter. I think I can directly identify the moment she gave up making me a cute little girly girl. It was first grade. She forced me to wear a stiff, itchy Holly Hobbie dress for school picture day, and I almost died. I'm still traumatized. It took me six years of fit-throwing, but I never again remember her making me wear something like that. 

I mean, look at this little girl. Doesn't that dress just make you want to scratch all over? I'm pretty sure that crooked smile means "save me!" I think the fabric was something like 70s couch cushion material. It's a wonder I'm so well adjusted today. 

As a job-having adult, the only reason I have clothes that are even close to nice is because of Stitch Fix. Every three months some clothes arrive in the mail, I try them on, and I almost always keep them. The folks over there have gotten good at sending me "flowy" clothes, and I have a profile completed that basically details my clothing phobias in as normal a way as possible. I mostly hate shopping (do you know how many tags are on clothes while they are in the store?!?!?), so this works for me. 

On Friday I got a Stitch Fix and it included...wait for it...high waisted jeans. 

I have long been an outspoken critic of high waisted jeans. I'm sure they look fine on other people, but they do not work on my body. However, I'm an open-minded person, and these jeans were so, so, so cute!  I want to be cute! I also know that at my ripe old age of 47.95 years old I'm supposed to love high waisted jeans because they tuck in and smooth out the part of my belly that refuses to forget the 18 months when I grew children there. 

So I thought positive thoughts and tried them on. 

Y'all. It was not good. 

My sweet husband, ever supportive, said "Those are nice." The look I gave him caused him to follow up with, "Are they touching you too much?" He knows me well. I tried to explain all of the problems with these incredibly cute high-waisted jeans, and I just do not think he understood me at all. I'm sure he was listening intently to the details of my assessment, but he looked almost disinterested!  Can you believe it?

I really needed to make my point, so I sat down on the couch and pulled those jeans up as high as they would go, proving that high waisted jeans are basically a combo of peri-menopausal maternity pants and an unsupportive boob shelf when I sit down in them. Let's just say that was not attractive. It sure got his attention, though, because he finally agreed that those cute jeans were from the devil and I should never, never put them on again. 

Luckily, my Stitch Fix also came with two flowy, floral tops. The high waisted jeans and adorable pink blazer, however, are headed straight for the return mail. It's like this person I've never met who is picking out all my clothes barely knows me at all. 

If you need me, I'll be over here with my seam ripper making sure no tags remain in my two new flowy blouses.

Which is perfectly normal.