Wednesday, August 20, 2008

This may be my next addiction

This woman invokes the same responses in me as do several of my dearest friends. That one where my body is lurching forward in friendly, positive solidarity with what they are saying, right before the Seinfeld-esque "GET OUT!!" push (which just seals the confirmation and could more easily and perhaps less painfully be implied if I just said, why yes, dear friend, I understand and can relate to feeling sheepish about handing your child over to your partner before he's even had the chance to put down his keys and finish saying "Hello, I'm hom....")

Can't. Stop. Watching. She's going in my bloglist. I think she's my new friend. Actually, her and Melbourne Radio 3MP, I am most surprised and not a little embarrassed to say. This is the most nurturing, mumsy station (to me)! I have discovered that listening to it, I can breeze through housework, literally whistling while I go, and feeling like doing those stereotypical circa 70's/80's things like have a Tupperware party on a Thursday afternoon and serve pumpkin scones and make cucumber sandwiches on white bread with no crusts... and I think it's because it conjures up memories of times of my early childhood when my own mother would listen to this station and sing while she worked around the house and entertained, as you did back then (before the days of blogs and online shopping). It's comforting to know there are parts of my past that had soft landings. Just strange that they can be uncovered with the "easy music" experience that is 3MP. You tell me, where else would I be able to hear, in this order, ABBA, The Beach Boys, The Dixie Chicks, Simon & Garfunkel, Backstreet Boys, The Beatles, then Nora Jones? Ok, yes, most of them can be found on my iTunes play list. But where else? Not particularly saying I'm in to all these artists. But it's different. It's not all Miley Cyrus and The Veronicas every hour. All those stations that boast variety... pah, I say to them.

I blame my Obstetrician for this. I had to be put on hold a few times over the past couple of months, when I had to phone to make appointments and then again when I finally called to see if my booking at the day surgery clinic had been made. Their hold music is 3MP. And I wanted to give him a sound telling-off for being so daggy. But now I find myself unashamedly rediscovering the side of me that knows how to nurture... me! Guess I ought to actually think about thanking him instead, huh.

So. Care to share? What's your sheepish daggy delight? What's the thing that nurtures you, harking back to your childhood memories of being well taken care of? Do you have one? Or are you all ultra-hip and unwilling to divulge your love of, I don't know, Women's Weekly recipe card parties?

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