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"Here I Go, Singing Low…"* Part 2

If you haven’t looked at something in six months, out it goes…

That’s the rule. But rules don’t always apply ~ especially when it comes to people and emotions.

I’m not about to spend hundreds of dollars to have someone tell me what I need and what I don’t need. If I could afford that, I wouldn’t be downsizing.

And, I ask you.

In all honesty…

How can an expert ~ albeit a Boomer, like me ~ who doesn’t know a whit about me, predict if I’ll ever need my old Roll-O-Dexes stuffed with business cards: names, addresses and phone numbers, mailing addresses and notations? People.

She keeps asking this question: The sentimental value in that is…?”

People aren’t things and it’s the people I’m afraid I’ll lose if I toss something out.

This is why I’m at my wit’s end. Why I feel I’m falling apart…

Long before email or voice mail or the Internet existed, I kept business cards. I have boxes of them. Each card is a person I spoke to or spent time with. Hours, perhaps. Interviewing, schmoozing, or simply adoring. People I thought I’d never lose. Delightful friends I haven’t spoke to in years. How are they? I wonder.

Memories are filling my study as a darling gentleman named Mauricio behind me dismantles a closet I turned into a sophisticated filing and shelving system. I won’t have that closet in my new office.

“Here I go, singing low…”*

Sunday, July 11: 3:05 p.m.

Nothing has changed in this office. Except I’ve lost almost a day because my email wasn’t working. I had to find out why. I had to search for a student. Not one box has been packed today.

Just a few minutes ago, I spoke to a wonderful woman who gave me my start in radio in 1980. Charlene Roycht. I came across the galley of a book she wrote. If Mom’s Not Dead by 9, I’m Leaving. I called her. She was still at the same address. Still sounded exactly the same. But she was surrounded by friends and watching the World Cup, like the rest of you are right now, I’m sure. She was in “discomfort” awaiting a hip operation, she said. Three days ago, she dislocated her hip and on Thursday she’s having surgery. I adore her. But haven’t spoken to her in at least five or six years.

Now, we’re back in touch. I’m so happy I called, even if I am so out of sync with my life, right now.

Just five minutes ago, at 2:55 p.m. I took my 8 a.m. medication. At 5:30 this afternoon, the buyers of our house are coming over. We need to be out for two hours. That means packing up our two dogs and going somewhere so this lovely young couple can have a second contractor come in and tell them how to tear apart our kitchen and rebuild it to their specifications.

I’m suffering from a serious case of pathetic fallacy today…

All those memories of ours will end up in a dumpster on the front yard.

And the sky is grey. It’s beginning to thunder.

*The refrain of the 1926 song Bye Bye Blackbird has been playing in my mind all day. It won’t stop. Its meaning is and always has been ambiguous. But then, songs always mean something different when you put the lyrics in emotional context. I love the lyrics of this song because of its ambiguities. Many are happy and hopeful, but today, I feel dark and doubtful. Like the weather. The words keep playing and replaying in my mind, today. Haunting me like my memories.

They won’t leave me alone.

"Here I Go, Singing Low…"* Part 2

Sandy Naiman

Sandy Naiman is a Toronto freelance journalist.

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APA Reference
Naiman, S. (2010). "Here I Go, Singing Low…"* Part 2. Psych Central. Retrieved on August 11, 2020, from


Last updated: 11 Jul 2010
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