In Short...

I have an hour between when school is done and when I have to be at the airport.... I'm flying out to Nanaimo (BC) for reading week. Although I take with me massive amounts of homework, both projects and reading, I feel this break is due and deserved.

Last night's dance went amazingly well, and the video looks great. However, the file is 151 Mb and Flickr only accepts videos 150 Mb and under. Of course. So, until I figure out the mysteries of AVI compression, you cannot share our moment of glory. (Is there anyone wise in the ways of this that can throw me a tip?)

(I emailed a link to the photo of the outfit I made for dance class to Linda MacPhee, the designer. She wants to use the photo and my email in her next newsletter! *squee!*)

I'll blog as I can and as I feel like it from the West Coast. I can feel something easing in me already, just knowing I'm going back to the place I love so well. Have a fabulous week.

Finally Finished

These two pairs of socks seemed to take forever, but they were worth the wait. I took pictures of these as I kayaked the Rideau canal last summer... Yeah... they're skating on it now. Glory hallelujah, they're done. (Indigo Moon hand-dyed yarn, Cookie A's Hedera pattern.)
These began as "Plane Socks", started on DPN's as I needed something to work on while flying out West. Then they became "The Socks That Never End"... and now they're simply done. I ran out of the "On Your Toes" yarn near the top but boldly kept on knitting with some Louet Gems that I had laying around... these are lovely cold-weather buddies.

Finally, in the sewing room, I've made a lovely outfit for dancing. Kate and I sat in on some of Linda MacPhee's workshops at CSNF in the fall, and Linda has made me fall in love all over again with sewing. Great patterns, clearly written, and not needlessly complicated, made in forgiving and wonderfully drapy fabrics. What's not to love?

Wayne and I are doing a floor-show at our dance-studio this Thursday... a sultry rumba to Sade's Smooth Operator. I'll be wearing this:
This skirt, Linda's "Salsa Skirt", is made out of movement itself. I think it would dance without me wearing it... I can't wait to show it off in the studio. Looking fantastic is at least half of any dance routine! (The top is just her "Model T" with funnel neck and long sleeves.)

I love this skirt so much I just ordered more slinky from Linda to make three more... I'm hoping to record our floor-show, but will only post it if it is of good quality, and if the dancers (cough*us*cough*) don't screw it up too badly. Wish us luck!

New Year's Eve

The New Year's Gala at the Hampton Inn was wonderful. The food and wine never ended. It made me wish I could take my left-over food home as I would never be able to dance had I cleaned my plate for all of the seven courses. The DJ and band kept the dance-floor packed, but not so much that us ballroom dancers couldn't carve out a wedge for ourselves. The company, two other couples from the studio and their family, was wonderful. What fun! Wayne and I danced until 1:30 in the morning, and he almost had to carry me up to our hotel room because my feet hurt so much.

That's a tradition worth making. I hope we'll do it again next year!

My fascinator drew much favourable comment. Only one other woman wore one, a tiny veil-and-feather jobbie that looked spectacular on her. Here's the full effect of mine.

I Could Have Danced All Night

The ball was last night, and this Cinderella certainly enjoyed it to the hilt. We danced most every song, except when we dared each other to go dance with random strangers. It seemed too short last night, though my aching feet today suggest otherwise.



(I wore fishnet tights and false eyelashes and applied my eye make-up with a trowel, and somehow managed not to look trashy!)





We had so much fun that we decided to do it all again, but bigger. We suddenly found ourselves without children on New Year's Eve, and decided to go to one of the big parties. We asked our dance teacher and she recommended one that a few couples from the studio were attending, and I just bought tickets. We *never* go out for New Years, so this is a Big Deal and I'm rather excited!

Plus I get to wear The Dress again... I got compliments all night long and I had to tell everyone the story of how DH bought it for me. He was walking pretty tall by night's end. As well he should.

The Gift of My Magi

There's a formal ball coming up next week at our dance studio. DH and I love to dress up and strut our stuff, so of course we are going... the only question, for me, was wardrobe.

Anyone who has ever seen my closet will not believe me when I say that I really didn't have anything appropriate to wear. I have a ballgown, but it's floor length and not good for dancing in. A couple of sheath dresses were eliminated on the same count. A closet full of incredible clothing, yet nothing to wear!

I decided to purloin for the night a dress his eldest stepdaughter wore to a summer wedding. A Le Chateau special, the cocktail dress was floaty and pretty but not really suited to winter wear with its pretty summery coral tones. DH, amazed I could even fit in her dress, asked me what size it was.

Last night we arrived at the dance studio early, despite the cruddy slushy roads. As we drove, we passed a shop where two rather fetching party dresses hung in the window; Wayne commented on how pretty one of them was and how nice it might look on me. We walked the sidewalks to Starbucks for a pre-dance coffee, and on the way passed the shop with the dresses. We paused for a minute, admiring, and then dashed in quickly to check out the price on the one that caught my eye. Although it was a reasonable price, it was more than I could afford... I've really trimmed my budget in anticipation of losing some income as I become a student. Besides, I had the coral dress to wear. I touched the dress regretfully, letting its silky black pleats fall through my fingers, and then hurried off to the studio for two solid hours of Cuban motion, tango and other related dance fun.

Tonight when DH came home from work he handed me a bag. From that dress shop. He had managed to completely surprise me... he had spotted that dress two weeks ago and knew it was meant for me, one way or another. It was a simple matter from there of ascertaining that I liked it and what size to purchase.

It is without a doubt the most beautiful and elegant dress I own, save my wedding dress... I cannot wait to wear it to the formal next week. The gesture of love by which it came renders it so much more than a simple garment.

I am blessed.

Summer in the City, Part 1

We live in Barrhaven, a southern suburb of Ottawa. Although I like the area we live in, there's not a lot that goes on out here, and I always forget that it's really a short drive to the heart of Ottawa to partake in the full range of city life. Ever since I moved to Ottawa from Kingston, I've grumbled that this city seems boring and soulless, but that's really my own fault for not exploring it more. This weekend I've really made the effort to feel the city, and I'm glad I did.

Saturday's entertainment came to my attention courtesy of CBC Radio One. An interview on Friday with an organizer of a dance event on the Sparks Street mall reminded me that I had meant to check it out this summer- this was my last chance. The Spark Street Dance Challenge was wrapping up on Saturday, and as a bonus, there would be a dance competition before the live music started. DH agreed that this sounded like fun, so we all dressed up and ventured downtown.

The girls were pretty dubious at first, and I have to admit I was too, when the dance competition was between three ballerinas, a jazz dancer, a swinging couple doing the Lindy Hop, and another couple who murdered the tango. The competition didn't really hold our attention so we wandered up the street to find some place nice to eat. After we ate, it was time for the band to begin.

The band was a swing band, lively and fun, and the cobblestones of Sparks Street looked pretty inviting as a dance floor. DH and I were pretty brave and took to the floor first, stretching our meager ballroom and Latin dances to fit the music as best we could. As the night fell, soft and welcoming, more bodies slipped onto the floor. We all danced in the warm summer night, forgetting everything but the joy of movement.

The songs were super long- ten minutes each, or so it seemed. Wayne and I would dance together until we were tired, then each of us would take one of the girls by the hand, teach them the steps of the dance, and dance with them for the rest of the song. They were having a ball- when a song would start, they would beg us to go out and dance; it really meant a lot to them for us to be out there.

We were all getting tired by 9, so Wayne invited his eldest daughter for a dance. They danced together, awkward at first but she slowly picked up on the box step he was doing and began to move better together. After a while, I suggested to the youngest daughter that she should cut in on the dance. She did so, and father and daughter shared another special moment.

It was a magic family evening, and I'm so glad we went. May it be the introduction to a long life of dance for those girls.

Hardest Thing To Do

I'm a worrier. I work through every single possibility that might happen in a given circumstance, and dread each wrong turn, each mis-step. I know by now that in the vast majority of cases, the things I imagine don't happen, and that real life isn't nearly as terrifying as the things I have cooked up in my head, but I still can't help trying to anticipate everything that happens.

I noticed this weekend that I try to do that on the dance floor, too. As the female, it's my job to remain expectant yet responsive. I never know which way the man will spin me or turn me on the floor, so I must be ready to move in any direction at any time. However, my thinking self, which pretty much always rules the roost, starts taking over and anticipating what will happen. This usually leaves me off-balance for what actually does happen; unprepared and ungraceful in transition. When I manage to clobber my racing mind into submission and just be in the moment, I am one with my partner, one with the dance, one with life.

Isn't this a precept of Zen Buddhism, too? To let go of expectations and flow from moment to moment. It sounds so easy; yet for me, it's the hardest thing to do.

What a Party!

My knee is stiff. My calves are seized. My feet have hot-spots all over, and I literally blew a shoe. I'm a little dehydrated and a little sunburned, despite the SPF 45 I dipped myself in this morning. My hair is weird, stiff, spiky and salty from all the sweat it absorbed every time it slapped my face in a turn- which was often. All this is to say, goddamn! That was a good afternoon.

Dancing In The Streets was was everything I had thought it might be, though sadly under-attended. I guess with the Ex and Reggae Fest and who knows what other festivals, there wasn't enough people to go around. Plus, I think that this event wasn't really advertised well- if it wasn't for the dance studio, I would have never known about it.

The Fred Astaire studio had four floor shows throughout the afternoon, instructors with glitzy costumes and even glitzier moves. There were free group lessons and hours of just open social dancing. I met many other regulars of the studio and some handsome young bucks who came up from the salsa dance joint down the street. The weather was hot and so was the dancing.

I didn't see XUP, or maybe I did and just didn't know it (how would I know, unless she wore a big name tag?) However, I did keep an ear out for anyone mimicking unusual sounds, just in case.

It was the perfect way to celebrate and commemorate those who have faced cancer. It was also the best way ever to celebrate life, summer, dancing, and friends.

There's a Party in the Streets!

This weekend, there's a massive street party in the Glebe! Free dance lessons, live music, stuff for the kids and all sorts of fun. This looks like a heck of a party! I'll be haunting the Fred Astaire Stage on Bank and Second. Will I see you there?

Ignore the Rhythm, If You Dare

DH and I went to another dance party on Thursday. This one was special, as it was to be our first floor show. We practiced for weeks, a snappy little swing routine to Queen's "Crazy Little Thing Called Love". We even threw in an extra lesson, just to polish. We had that routine down cold, including the fancy kicks at beginning and end.

Long story short- we blew it. We couldn't find the rhythm with a magnifying glass, despite our hours of practice. We shuffled about in the center of the floor, everyone looking at us and cheering us on gamely, me chanting out the rhythm, Wayne doing the best he could, and all of us wishing it was all over. The DJ turned down the music mercifully but we continued through grimly to the end of the routine.

It was painful, but finished. The upside is that it can only get better from there.

I leave you with a super catchy song from the dance party, by a European artist called Roisin Murphy. This is a samba; a dance that Wayne and I don't know yet, but our hips automatically want to respond to. Can you ignore this rhythm?

A Dance, Perchance?

DH and I are still going strong with ballroom and Latin dancing. It's gotten to the point where we've pushed the couches and tables against the wall of our family room and have agreed it looks better that way 'cause there's more room. We also leave our dance shoes under one of those tables so we'll be ready at a moment's notice for a spin around the floor.

We went to a masquerade ball at the dance studio last Thursday. I went as a Spanish senorita, and Wayne... well, he was just his handsome self, only with a mask.



The dance parties are fun, yet a bit nerve-wracking. One of the few rules is that you cannot turn down a dance. This means that Wayne and I, still with our dance training-wheels on, were dancing with some incredibly good (and patient!) dancers. I had it easier- all I had to do was follow. Poor hubby had to keep some highly trained ladies happy on the floor- talk about stress.

It's really, really good, though, to see how far you have yet to go. Humbling. Our dance teacher took me out for a rumba that bore not even casual resemblance to the rumba we knew. I actually asked her afterwards what dance it was, even though it was announced. I did another one later with another teacher that at least I could feel was the same dance... every now and then he did a pattern I almost recognized.

There's another teacher who led me on a wild, free-form cha-cha in the lobby. I fought every exhilarating second to keep up with that woman's crazy feet, and had the most fun I had had all night in those 4 minutes with her.

I had another dance partner who awakened me to the potential of the Latin dances. He was Latino himself, and was an amazing dancer. The meringue we shared was okay, but doing the cha-cha with him was like making love to a complete stranger on the dance-floor. I was hot and bothered after we finished dancing, and there wasn't even any body-contact. I have a deep respect for the sensual rhythms and nuances of that dance now.

I know I have to be patient; a few months of lessons don't make us good dancers in the grand scheme of things. A complicated, well executed and nuanced dance gives me such a giddy feeling- I felt drunk and high on that darkened dance-floor, twirling in the arms of an experienced partner. We have far to go before DH and I can replicate that magic together. However, I catch flashes of it every now and then when we dance, and that convinces me that we can indeed get there from here. It's the journey, not the destination, n'est pas?

Dance Me to the End...

Last night we had a dance "test". Our instructor thought we were good enough to change from the Social Dance program to the "Bronze", or beginning competitive/ advanced social dance level. We had four steps from the new syllabus to perform for the studio manager, then she ran us through some impromptu steps to see how fast we grasped the material. It was slightly nerve-wracking, but it wasn't as if they'd kick us out if we flubbed the steps. (Which we mostly didn't.)

We went to the manager's office afterwards, to look at the proposed new program. In her office was a framed print that knocked me on my butt... it was all I could do not to start sobbing right then and there. It's a beautiful print by English artist Jack Vettriano, called "Dance Me To the End of Love" (yes, inspired by the Leonard Cohen song.)



It's not necessarily a sad print, in and of itself, but the first and last time I saw it was in the hospice where my Dad died this last fall. I spent many hours looking at this picture and pondering the love that my parents held for each other, and how that love would continue after Dad died... this beautiful picture now forever has such strong emotional content (she says with tears dripping off her nose.)

Somehow I held it together, until DH and I were at home. I told him what happened, and the sobs that threatened at the studio hit me like a summer thunderstorm... violent and heated, yet brief and cleansing. He said he saw my face turn white in the office, but thought it was the price of the package of lessons. (Any other day, and that price would have made me turn white, too, but last night I'm fairly sure it was the painting that sucker-punched me.)

I feel I've been living in a place where the fabric between life and death is particularly thin. I am full of hurt from all the losses, both mine and others, past and future. One of my grandmothers has today been diagnosed with kidney cancer that has moved to her lymph system and spine. It doesn't look good.

I leave you with the only song that sums me up right now. The Indigo Girls can always sum me up with a song, and have been my steady companions for 15 years now, no matter the circumstance. (From the album of the same name. I wish you could hear it in it's entirety, but can't find a link.)

"All That We Let In"

Dust in our eyes our own boots kicked up
Heartsick we nurse along the way we picked up
You may not see it when it's sticking to your skin
But we're better off for all that we let in

We've lost friends and loved ones much too young
With so much promises and work left undone
When all that guards us is a single centerline
And the brutal crossing over when it's time

Oooooooo
(And I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo
(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo
(We're better off for all that we let in)

One day those toughies will be withered up and bent
The father, son, the holy warriors and the president
With glory days of put up dukes for all the world to see
Beaten into submission in the name of the free

But we're in a revolution, I have heard it said
And everyone's so busy now but do we move ahead
The planets hurling and atoms splitting
And a sweater for your love you sit there knitting

Oooooooo
(Well, I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo
(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo
(We're better off for all that we let in)

See those crosses on the side of the road
Tied with ribbons in the median
They make me grateful I can go this mile
Lay me down and never wake me up again

Kat writes a poem and she sticks it on my truck
We don't believe in war and we don't believe in luck
The birds were calling to her, what were they saying
As the gate blew open the tops of the trees were swaying

I've passed the cemetery walk my dog down there
I read the names in stone and say a silent prayer
When I get home you're cooking supper on the stove
And the greatest gift of life is to know love.

Momma Has New Shoes!

Can anyone guess what sort of naughtiness I plan on getting into with these babies strapped on?



It's actually a whole range of trouble... from Foxtrot to Salsa, Waltz to Tango, Swing to Rumba... bring it on!!!

I have a deep, abiding passion for dance. It's been on hold for years as I recovered from knee injury and surgery, but there is nothing stopping us now from getting out on the dance floor!

DH and I have had two seasons of Ballroom/Latin lessons a few years back, but have nicely forgotten everything. We're now enrolled in private lessons and intend never to forget anything again. Dance is just too life-affirming to let slip away... we may never be very good at it, but we will always have fun.

I am so blessed to have a man who is as passionate about dance (and life and love and everything else) as I am.