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Posts Tagged ‘dancing’

 

 

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[experienced and written on Thursday 3/21]

the air lightens around us

1. I do not expect you to understand this post. There are bits that I have left purposely un-puncuntuated and one part that I left flimsy, poem-like. Not that I want my or anyone else’s poetry to be flimsy, but sometimes I like flowy words for no reason but the sound and feel. So we call it poetry and let it pass. Not all of life need be tidy and tight.

2. because you don’t have to number something if there’s only one

you know me as the [sometime] bike ‘n’ bitch, but I’ve got a new pair of high-heeled sneakers on; yes, I’ve been a dabbler in running, but there’s a new phase a’comin’. I just know I will be able to run the whole stretch of my block and back without stopping within the next little while, few months, year. To be honest, I’d settle for being able to do yoga again first. It’s the longest I’ve gone without a class in over 4 years. Sigh and fuck inexplicable injuries!

the neighbor who bikes to the racquet club was walking in the ‘hood with her husband

a woman was stopped at the end of the street, probably standing right in a pothole, with her Great Dane who did NOT have its ears or tail cut (hooray for humane decisions). The dog was so good, so patient. The owner was training her (him?) and it was a sweet sight. Who’s a good dog?

what is this?

it’s a dog snood

After her mom stopped her car at the end of their driveway, a small child opened the passenger door, ran to the mailbox, and flew back with the mail. So small and wee, jet-black hair waving in the current her speeding body created. Was it a boy with long locks? I waved and said “you are helping; that’s a good thing,” and he, rightly, took a little step back toward his mom and squinted across to me and shyly asked “what?” and I repeated what I said. I waved to the mom, too, so she knew that I knew that we all knew it was safe. It’s good thing when children are taught to be cautious of strangers.

On my way back from my very short “beginner’s loop” (though I’ve been a beginner for years), I cursed the sidewalk that our neighbors seem to feel is beneath them to shovel. I’ve actually heard the wife chide her husband for shoveling too much. Isn’t that backward? I thought hen-pecking happened because men didn’t do enough around the house, but somehow, she thinks that anyone who walks the neighborhood doesn’t deserve a clean, shoveled, safe stretch of sidewalk. Now I know I’m bashing a sista, but when it comes to sidewalk safety and being a good neighbor and doing your part, especially if you are able-bodied and home much of the time, I got no patience for ya.

In fact, in the last few years, this is only the second time I’ve seen their stretch shoveled and on my run, the path was EXACTLY ONE SHOVEL-WIDTH across. You gotta have some balls to shovel only one shovel-width, but I think the wrong kind of balls. The snow was heavy as water, yes, but only about an inch-and-a-half deep by mid-morning on Tuesday. Their stretch of sidewalk is about 20 feet across. You know how much sidewalk we have? about 75′. Fuckers.

with the sun behind me, I made a shadow-shape on the blue snow and I watched the motion of my hips, unmistakeably me; no matter how much weight I gain and cringe to think of how I look, it’s me. Unmistakeably sexy, me. This is my walk, this is my gait, this is what people see.

The grief point where my rib meets my sternum, over to the left, above my heart, where the voodoo darning needle was plunged, still brings a rush of pain and tears. But it’s getting better.

Running and me? Two steps forward, one step back.

My health? The same.

Aging is a motherfucker, but sometimes I fight the good fight. Today was one of those days.

Look how James Brown seems to float above the floor. That is about how I felt today when I walked out of my acupuncturist’s office and my ribcage was pain-free.

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Hubby, my older daughter, and I went to see Gogol Bordello in Boston last night. I figured out a little bit more why this is the best live band I’ve ever seen, and, when you go, the best live band you will ever see. It is their interaction with and inclusion of the audience in every move they make on stage. That’s not the only reason, but it’s one of the overarching ones.

One of my favorite things last night happened after the concert. We were driving back home on I-90 and we stopped at a rest stop to grab a bite to eat (I try, I really do. I had a cooler and food bag packed with healthy stuff, but McDonald’s fries and coffee won out in the end). While waiting in line, a 20-something man noticed my [new] Gogol Bordello t-shirt and asked, “Were you at the show?” He was in a state of bewilderment, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a halo of bliss above his head. I answered that yes, I’d been at the show. We began to chat. It was nice to see the reverence in his face, the gears clicking in his head trying to figure out how it was possible for such a band to exist.

I also struck up a quick conversation, still in line at McDonald’s, with a teenage girl (14-years old, maybe) who had the same happy, dazed look on her face.

“Did you just come from the concert?” I asked.

“Yes. Weren’t they amazing?” she asked.

“Yes.” I answered, and: “Had you seen them before?”

“No, have you? Does he tour a lot?”

It was all so endearing.

♦ ♦ ♦

Just 2 hours ago, I bought tickets to see Gogol Bordello on Lake Champlain for a mid-August concert. This time, I’m going for it. Up in front of the stage with all the pretty young women and raving young men. RIGHT UP FRONT. That’ll be me backstage, the only sober person in a throng of groupies trying to share a bottle of wine with the band. Maybe Eugene will let me massage his hands. Or forearms. Or the twisted erector spinae muscles of his back. Yeah, that’s how fantasies work around here: me massaging famous rock stars.

It’s like my kid, clucking at me to Stop it, Mom when I was bounding, fleet-foot, up the aisle last night, dancing around, twirling my new t-shirt in the air. Nobody cares, Violet. Nobody cares what I am doing. They are not looking at me. She danced next to me the whole concert, her face glowing and carefree, safe with her parents, buoyed up by the good will all around her.

I’m here to be happy, to fill the empty spaces with energy and heat and vibration. Just like that band up there, biding our time and asking everyone to join in the ecstatic moments.

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Eek! Music Monday is beginning to feel a bit perfunctory. I dunno, maybe you couldn’t tell? I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel though. Today feels a little more organic, but part of me thinks, you know, we all have access to the same music, can I really tell you something you don’t already know?

By the time our first born was about 6-months old, we’d stick her in the “Baby Bundler,” a 25-foot long, 2-foot wide piece of stretchy cotton that wrapped around our bodies, place her facing out, and dance around, her arms and legs sticking out and bouncing up-and-down to our movements and the music. A splendid time was had by all.

I can’t remember many of the songs we played, but here are a couple of favorites.

Listening to Yo La Tengo in the car the other day reminded me of this:

Speeding Motorcycle, Daniel Johnston

Speeding motorcycle, won’t you change me?
Speeding motorcycle, won’t you change me?
In a world of funny changes
Speeding motorcycle, won’t you change me?
Speeding motorcycle of my heart
Speeding motorcycle; always changing me
Speeding motorcycle, don’t you drive recklessly
Speeding motorcycle of my heart
Pretty girls have taken you for a ride
Hurt you deep inside but you never slowed down
Speeding motorcycle in my heart
Speeding motorcycle, let’s speed smart
‘Cause we don’t want to wreck but
We can do a lot of tricks
We don’t have to break our necks
To get our kicks
Speeding motorcycle, the road is ours
Speeding motorcycle, let’s speed some more
‘Cause we don’t need reason and we don’t need logic
We’ve got feeling and we’re dang proud of it
Speeding motorcycle, there’s nothing you can’t do
Speeding motorcycle, I love you
Speeding motorcycle, let’s just go
Speeding motorcycle
Let’s go let’s go let’s go
Oo oo

Considering what Iggy Pop was doing when he’d perform this song live, how appropriate was it for baby bundler dancing? I’m not too concerned, but just now when my kids saw a couple of the live videos, they made faces and said “he’s weird Mom.” What’s worse than the naked gyrations and references to heroin addiction was the sell out to Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines. Maybe the joke’s on them.

Lust For Life, Iggy Pop

Here comes Johnny Yen again
With the liquor and drugs
And a flesh machine
He’s gonna do another strip tease

Hey man, where’d you get that lotion?
I’ve been hurting since I bought the gimmick
About something called love
Yeah, something called love
Well, that’s like hypnotising chickens

Well, I’m just a modern guy
Of course, I’ve had it in the ear before
‘Cause of a lust for life
‘Cause of a lust for life

I’m worth a million in prizes
With my torture film
Drive a G.T.O.
Wear a uniform
All on government loan

I’m worth a million in prizes
Yeah, I’m through with sleeping on the sidewalk
No more beating my brains
No more beating my brains
With the liquor and drugs
With the liquor and drugs

Well, I’m just a modern guy
Of course, I’ve had it in my ear before
‘Cause, of a lust for life (lust for life)
‘Cause of a lust for life (lust for life, oooo)
I’ve got a lust for life (oooh)
Got a lust for life (oooh)
Oh, a lust for life (oooh)
Oh, a lust for life (oooh)
A lust for life (oooh)
I got a lust for life (oooh)
Got a lust for life

Well, I’m just a modern guy
Of course, I’ve had it in my ear before
‘Cause I’ve a lust for life
‘Cause I’ve a lust for life.

Well, here comes Johnny Yen again
With the liquor and drugs
And a flesh machine
I know he’s gonna do another strip tease

Hey man, where’d ya get that lotion?
Your skin starts itching once you buy the gimmick
About something called love
Oh Love, love, love
Well, that’s like hypnotising chickens.

Well, I’m just a modern guy
Of course, I’ve had it in the ear before
And I’ve a lust for life (lust for life)
‘Cause I’ve a lust for life (lust for life)
Got a lust for life
Yeah, a lust for life
I got a lust for life
Oh, a lust for life
Got a lust for life
Yeah a lust for life
I got a lust for life


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The first time this dance party happened was in January 2009 in celebration of Obama’s inauguration

I remember how happy I was, how we all were so glad Obama made it in, the historical weight of the moment, the readiness for change, something far from Bush, Cheney, Rove, good job Brownie, Halliburton, Blackwater

I remember Dan’s band playing I Can See Clearly Now and screaming it at the top of my lungs in solidarity with its message

The next year, the dance was called “The Full Belly Dance” and I was confused: was it a belly dance dance? Did Dan’s band, The No Nos, even know any middle eastern music to which we could don our I Dream of Jeannie outfits and undulate our hips?

Last night, I went to the dance with a full belly

Thankfully, Paul and I got there late, so I only danced for 2 hours instead of

Apparently, I am not at the mercy of my anemia any more because I danced my ass off without incident

On the other hand, my knees are feeling creaky. How can I dance like that into my 50s, 60s, 70s, how?

My face was lobster red after the dance, the same as the when I had exercise-induced asthma after playing racquetball one time in college (squash?)

I know that dancing and certain kinds of music are banned in certain fundamentalist countries. What do you think Santorum thinks of this?


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Greetings, my little cutie-patooties!

I’ve got a terrible cold, one which I valiantly fought for weeks but to which I finally succumbed 4 days ago, ugh.

I’m grateful for the SNOW STORM we got last night—our first of the winter. I could gas on about the lack of snow in New England and crab about the crazy too-early storm in October, but I’m not gonna. The kids had a snow day so I was able to crawl back to bed at about 7:30 this morning after not having to do my usual SAHM stuff. I slept until 11 am. I WENT TO ELEVEN and that was nice.

This week is all about preparations for the Amherst Regional High School musical for which Violet sewed costumes, as well as for the annual Viennese Waltz at Annie’s school this Saturday. The girls have been trying on their fabulous frocks and have been helping each other with hair and make-up and hats and gloves. I tried on my own frock and you know, I didn’t feel too bad about it (especially due to the butt- and thigh-tightening hose, made by Spanx, that I purchased at Target. This was a first for me and I thought I’d hate them, but they are not tight or uncomfortable at all, so my fears were unfounded). Tomorrow night we will see Guys and Dolls (so excited) and Saturday night, we’ll be working shifts, eating Viennese-type desserts, and dancing ’til our butts fall off and in my case, due to actual heels (very rare), possible blisters or at least foot discomfort until the last 45 minutes when the music shifts from live piano and violin to a total funk meltdown in which all of the moms kick off their shoes and dance like mad, completely ignoring their embarrassed teens, who honestly are having such a good time of their own that they forget to notice after the first 5 minutes or so.

birthday hat

the amazing Stubby Kaye as Nicely Nicely, singing the mock gospel song Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat from the movie version of “Guys and Dolls”

 I miss that kind of singing–the pipes, the presence, the physical and vocal control. Glory Be!

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We are blessed in our household to have 2 February birthdays, my Hubby’s and one of my daughters’, who just turned 15.

Long ago, when I loved Facebook, I would often send a silly birthday video around on friends’ birthdays, but I gave that up after Facebook morphed into something beastly and uncontrollable and generally not to my liking.

Here’s one of my favorite birthday songs. A perfect rendition doesn’t seem to exist on youtube, which is fitting because birthdays aren’t about perfection. Even I can’t sing this song, of course because I can’t do all the different parts by myself, and partly because my daughters haven’t learned the other parts to sing it with me. You have to bear through about a minute-and-a-half of jabbering at the beginning, but then it picks up okay. It’s a little too white for me, but I do think it was written by a white guy, so there.

Of course the best birthday songs around here are the ones we sing out loud on the actual day (this includes not only the traditional birthday song, but also the Waldorf-learned “We Wish You a Happy Birthday,” which is refreshing and can be sung in a round, like so many songs Waldorf).

I posted a poem the other day also in honor of my oldest daughter’s birthday. The poem was certainly prompted by that yogic body memory, stored inside my intelligent cells and brought to the fore by some deep posture, but also by my daughter’s not infrequent plaint “Why did you have kids if it’s so hard?”

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