Ergonomic Nostalgia
Nostalgic Ergonomics
A classmate (Órale Griñe) recently helped lead the charge for a fundraiser for our middle and high school educational institution. Albuquerque Academy class of 2000 ended up winning the alumni giving competition with his and others’ efforts. I felt compelled to donate because I somehow interpreted the call as so urgent I did not want to be the reason why we were not successful. When the results were shared it turns out I was amongst a very small minority of charitable givers from my graduating class - this was some weeks ago now, so after finding the email in my inbox I am reminded that 12.7% of our class participated. I don’t remember the exact number of our graduating class but I’m pretty sure it was fewer than 130. So, 12.7% of our graduating class is not very many contributors, but a win is a win. And honestly, in today’s landscape I’ll take a win in whatever form it may come.
When I used to be a passenger in the car as a teen, my parents would always listen to music they wanted to hear. In the 90s they were not keen on the grunge scene and definitely not into the mainstreaming of hip hop. I have strong memories of both of my parents changing the “alternative rock” station to “classic” or “pop” depending on which one of them was ferrying us around. It made for a good musical exploration and I’m grateful for it. My dad’s joy in Jethro Tull or AC/DC or even deeper rock cuts like Kansas or Boston (why so many names of places?) was quite the musical education. And so too was my mama’s love of Celine Dion, Cher, and Whitney Houston.
Sometimes we would be rolling around Albuquerque and listening to the Forest Gump soundtrack, my memory recalls that as a double CD release - such a great round up of music from the 60s, an era when my parents would have been young, but clearly music that endured if decades later we were still grooving to it. Paired with my classical music education through Mrs. Bernard’s guidance as our choral master, and my late night tapings of the radio so I could listen to Regulators over and over and over, I had a pretty well-rounded exposure to many genres of music. “Top 40 hits from the 70s’, 80s’ and today” was a frequent chorus on the radio, until it shifted to the 80s’, 90s, and today. Now the 80s are what used to be the 40s for my parents and “classic rock” is Nirvana piped through the struggling sound system playing to the fluorescent lit grocery store aisles.
I’m back in the 90s not only because of the way music and emails from classmates can transport, but also because my collarbone is reminding me of these times daily. In the spring of 1996 I broke my left collarbone in a track and field accident. At practice. Ugh, not even in competition; but because of my competitive nature I was giving it my all in practice and paid the price. I was in eighth grade, we were doing relay sprints.
For now I’ll give the abridged version. I was running at full speed and ran over a teammate who was stationary and facing me when she should have been running. I wasn’t able to run into any other lane because I was the last to arrive to the handoff zone where all the faster runners were all still standing in their lanes. I’m realizing as I type this that it would be fun to turn this into a graphic novel. I woke up to all the boys I’d finally caught up to, circled around me, coaches running over to see what was going on. Meanwhile, I passed out from the pain and impact of the fall.
I was mortified. I wish I would have been able to soak up the attention because when else did I have all those eyes on me by my crushes… but alas the pain! It’s cinematic really in my memories, a sliver of a beautiful blue sky, Mr. Revels, the athletic trainer on duty running down from the gym to see what was going on, me being shuttled away as the rest of my track and field season died that day while everyone else continued practicing. Mama was called - probably surprised it was me who was in trouble. Not like sent to the principal’s office trouble, but more like needed to be picked up and taken to the clinic for x-rays trouble.
It turns out that holding my embroidery hoop with my left hand while stitching large letters for banners for long periods of time has induced an ergonomic reminder of my body’s previous injury. Just like when I first broke my collarbone, it’s always amazing to recognize how interconnected the body is because my collarbone pain reminder is currently shooting information down my left arm and up the side of my neck. It’s pinging pain when I drive, which is frequent. Once an hour or more, I try to remind myself to open up my chest and shoulder area doing counter movements to stretch and relieve some of the pain, though the pain remains pretty disorienting. I’m surprised the pain has not reared up more frequently, given I broke a bone in my body, but on the other hand it makes sense that it might be causing me trouble almost 30 years later… how is that possible? It feels like it just happened?
I’m intrigued by how my body is forcing me to imagine new ways of doing things. It’s encouraging me to research a freestanding hoop stand situation so I don’t have to hoist what is a very light weight hoop that is apparently taxing enough to recharge a 28-year old injury. Of course while I’m researching alternatives I still am holding the hoop every night as I satin stitch letters. The pain feels like a ritual I’m willing to return to every evening. A self-flagellation I’m choosing to endure as if it some how increases my character. I’m noticing the toll of this teenage pain not only through the way my stitching is causing physical manifestations in my vessel but it’s also triggering psychic reverberations. When I finally make it to a horizontal state, I’m haunted by the pains of my youth in my dream state. Many nights I am so often revisiting a younger version of myself, the 1996-2000 version of me. Does FRC know how many times we’re slaying demons (real or otherwise) together in my dreamworld? Am I in her dreams as much as she’s in mine?
Stitching doesn’t seem like an activity that should have such an impact on the body, but apparently micro movements can also take an ergonomic toll. The years of running certainly have, as my physical therapist and back specialist have both barred me from logging miles and other high impact activities due to compressed vertebrae on their way to fusing. Internal transformations abound! While track and field is not typically billed as a high impact contact sport, apparently my injury incurred in the 90s reverberates into my present. This one moment, a split second decision wracks me with a daily reminder of past KCF’s actions.
I’m aiming to stay in the present moment but my body keeps reminding me of the past. How easy it is to be transported to my teen years lately through these signals - collarbone or songs on the radio, classmates emailing or visiting in dreams. Thinking back to those days when I was the young one and my parents were nearing my current age I wonder if they too were being transported to their younger days? Is this a condition of early 40s? Or is it only the condition of someone who once broke their collarbone in eight grade as they rounded the bend of the 200 yard marker on the high school track at their private school? We may never know the answer to these questions though I do know, I’m grateful for the time to ask them. And, I know that at the end of the day these letters I’m stitching will bear some fruit for me and cycle me back to being able to contribute to the next alumni fundraiser when asked. For that too, I’m grateful, even if my body continues to remember the score.
What I’m Hearing
Every time I connect my phone to my car’s speakers via bluetooth I am listening to The Challengers Film soundtrack filled with electronic beats with interspersed sampling of fun sounds from the film. Some of us have had the privilege of popping open a can of fresh tennis balls like a can of tuna, strumming the strings of a tennis racket like a guitar, or finding pleasure in the sounds of a bounce of a ball on the hard surface of the court. Before this film I never really honed in on all the deliciously sexy parts of tennis. Of course part of it is the sensual pleasure of the sounds, and the film takes the idea of desire quite seriously through the playing of tennis. I am stunned that the official trailers do not include Trent Rezner and Atticus Ross’ compositions because I was hooked when the first beat dropped. The pace of the music with the film is exhilarating, and in a vehicle roaming the greening treetops of Otter Tail County, it hits too. A perfect early summer pick-me-up made even better after viewing the film.
Creative Ritual
May 1st marked the beginning of my busy summer kicked off with an artist talk at the Bluenose Gopher Public House in Granite Falls, MN and a billboard artist talk outside of Foxhome, MN. I also spent a week in Washington, D.C. with my in-laws which was a trip in all the meanings of that word. I saw some amazing Amish quilts and a couple of very great paintings as I zipped elders through the contemporary section of the wing of art at the portrait gallery that housed President Lincoln’s Inaugural Ball. I taught a class and deinstalled a show. I’ve logged a minuscule amount of time in the studio and that pains me. But I did see the northern lights from the end of our driveway the other night. I’m currently writing this message to you after traveling across the state for a two-day meeting. I’m exhausted. Given my state I have decided to forgo the podcast version of this today, my sincere apologies, I look forward to unveiling a new aspect of this project and celebrating the Art of KCF Newsletter’s fourth birthday at the end of the month!
Questions to ponder
What is your comfort music and why?
What messages is your body giving you about past pains?
How does your high school experience interact with your dream or waking world?
What did your parents teach you about music?
Thanks for journeying with me. I hope, as always, that you take what you need and leave the rest for someone else, or for another time.
-KCF
PS: After a year of support from the MSAB I’m back to busking in the world wide web streets for moolah. If you feel so inclined to join others who help support this project, know you’ll be in great company.