Life goes up and life goes down. Events go here and events go there. Emotions and experiences and feelings of hope and belief, or despair and desperation, go up and down and here and there and all over the place. At least that has been my experience … .
In 2006 I was in just such a place of coming out of a dark, squashed and difficult time in my life. I’d lost everything I had in terms of physical things through a whirlwind marriage to an unrooted person who again and again wanted to move-move-move to a new city, a new country, a new place; and I’d come back to my roots and hometown depleted of all resources: home, income, personal affects and clothes. (Literally, I returned from overseas with, as I ever so remember, two suitcases filled with clothes I didn’t even like and which didn’t even feel like me.)
But as one does, I moved on. I took a step. I did what I could to begin to recover and find myself again.
One day–early in this recovery–I was running an errand near a thrift store. I didn’t have much time to shop, so I walked into the store and repeated a thought to myself. It was this–“I know you’re here and want to come home with me. Show yourself.” And then I walked quickly through the store, my hands lightly touching items as I walked a few aisles of clothing.
And then I stopped abruptly, pulled an item out from the others and without trying it on, abso-100-percent-lutely knew this was what I had come for: It was a pair of pink, purple and black plaid bellbottom pants with a plastic-y feel and texture to them.
They were also abso-100-percent-lutely not the kind of clothing I’d ever worn before, had ever been attracted to before or ever would have considered wearing before, but in that moment, I knew they would fit me perfectly (they did) and look fantastic on me (they did). So I bought them for the $3 or $4 they cost back then in 2006.
These purple-pink-and-black, plaid bellbottom pants with a plastic-y feel to them were my go-to pants for so many events that year, and certainly for many a party I attended. And then one day they disappeared. I have no idea where they went. Maybe I left them somewhere. IDK. Clueless. What I do know is they served me well and right exactly when I needed them.
I haven’t thought about them much, but this picture from that time in my life showed up in my Facebook memories today and reminded me of these fabulous pants and my early days of coming out of my divorce.
I’d started hula hooping in the early days of hula-hooping’s revival (in 2005), and I’d met some new friends who were also hoopers. They were, to a person, all burners who had attended Burning Man, most of whom had a flair for dressing a bit fun and funky themselves. This photo is from when we went to see George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic, which I’d loved in my younger years but which, frankly (to me), was a bit boring as a live concert with their extended-extensions of all their past glorious songs sang. (Sometimes too much of a good thing isn’t a good thing.)
But the day was, overall, fun. It was fun to go with new friends, fun to hoop to Parliament and fun to wear my purple-pink-and-black, plaid bellbottom pants with a plastic-y feel to them.
make my funk the p-funk
