Me, a dancer?

Though dance is something that has been in my system since my earliest memories, a director once described my talent for it as “the innate klutziness of Ruby Keeler”. A definite back-handed compliment, I had to admit it was true. For all my love of movement to music I make no claim to artistry, only enjoyment. There was a good reason this technical person shirked required auditions when her university was producing musicals. My place was in the wings or the house, not on the boards.

These days watching So You Think You Can Dance and listening to the more serious critiques brings back memories of sometimes frustrating rehearsals, hysterical laughter as we neared exhaustion and the pure elation of an audience’s appreciation. Even more, I have begun to realize that I really was paying attention I was training in theatre and through later dance classes. How else would a rank amateur understand Nigel Lithgoe’s technical comments or the nuances of Mary Murphy’s insights?

I don’t know why my mother enrolled me in a tap class at an age when some kids are still perfecting just walking. All I remember of it was being unhappy about wearing mouse ears instead of Donald Duck’s cap in a recital that was interrupted by a small earthquake tremor. But I do know why a year later I was introduced to ballet. I was tripping over everything; even my own shadow. I was only in it for the pink shoes and the hour away from my very British nanny’s etiquette lessons. I didn’t like it, but surviving Madame’s incessant cane tapping out the battements and her screeching “relevé”, “entrechat” and “ligne, ligne, ligne” actually turned out well. Despite having no pretense of sharing my peers’ dreams of becoming ballerinas the ordeal was worth it. Without the grace of that early ballet training, I would probably walk more like a plow horse than a lady. I can say this because when trying to keep pace with my father later on, even the ballet training fell by the wayside.

Like most teens in the 1960s, I learned every dance shown on American Bandstand, Shindig, Where the Action Is, Soul Train and in the movies. Then, just before college graduation, my favorite professor decided to produce Dames At Sea. The theatre department majors rebelled, as we had no dance corp or even training, only to be sent to crash courses in modern dance and tap. Truthfully, I was happy about the free tap classes. It seems I am better suited to clogging or flamenco, with a penchant for noise making with my heels, but even so, my fellow students were even less suited to being light on their feet or keeping time with their toes. As the senior members of the department we were required to audition and shortly after the comment I opened this commentary with, most the dance numbers were edited out of the script. Three girls and one guy do not a chorus line make. Though before we all went our separate ways, a few of us invaded the local clubs and showed off our tap dancing inspired disco styles to bewildered, and thankfully drunk, patrons. If only we’d had Travolta with us back then!

Finally after a lull of over twenty years the body needed to move with music again, though the dance form getting all the attention was Break Dancing. Seriously, what woman over 40 would take that up after sitting behind a desk for over a decade? I have my crazed moments of “sure, why not?”, but this was not one of them. I hated most tango music, but the moves were fascinating. So I found an excellent Tanguero who was also the perfect teacher for me. Leonardo Kunkello, knew just when and how to push me past my comfort levels and I have been in love with Tango ever since. But that was only the beginning of my foray into Latin dance.

Mr. Salsa Dallas, Luis Delgadillo, was teaching in the same studio as the tango class I tried when Leonardo moved to Branson, Mo. It was only a few weeks before the music and his personality had me checking out Salsa and leaving the strains of the Argentine accordions for those of Mexican ones. (Yes, I like Cajunto music.) This also when discovered that perfection is not always needed for fun. One facet of Luis’ group classes is that everyone dances with each other. So students experience dancing with experienced and novice, smooth and clumsy, comfortable and panicked partners. It’s a great technique. Women learn to follow better and men learn to take an active lead.

Eventually it was while dancing salsa that I found what I had been looking for.

No, not the perfect partner - could there really be one?

I truly dance for fun. I don’t have to be the best on the floor. I don’t care to perfect flourishes and theatrical moves that wow other dancers. I just want to move to the music and enjoy connecting with the person I am dancing with. If it looks good to others, that’s great, but as long as I don’t hold back or embarrass my partner it just has to feel good to me. Maybe if I were better, I would teach; but I am not. I keep taking beginner level classes, not to show off, but because I enjoy helping Luis with the new students after they get the basics. But I am not good enough to teach, but I can be good enough for a novice to work on his own moves and not have his partner mislead or distract him. And I adore the look in their eyes when they realize they have mastered a step that had them baffled moments before.

So I will keep on dancing around the house, in the clubs once in a while, or maybe at another class, and I will watch shows like So You Think You Can Dance where I can appreciate the talent, drive and massive effort made to get to that level while feeling no urge to follow in those footsteps whatsoever. Though I listen to a lot of K-Pop these days and I know a Hip-Hop instructor........

Problems with Trinity Railway Express

This is out on Facebook, but I wanted to share it with anyone and everyone else who rides the TRE!
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Trinity Railway Express
by Melissa Broadway on Friday, 25 March 2011 at 15:07

It seems that despite being such a needed and well used service to the Dallas - Fort Worth community, Trinity Railway Express still has lessons to learn from its nearest kin. No matter how large or how exclusive a mass transit system is, it needs to listen to its riders and act in good faith to resolve issues that make riding less than it should be.

To begin, Trinity Railway Express seems to choose the least effective means of meeting face to face with its customers who truly care about its operation and actually ride the train daily. The vast majority of ridership takes place during the rush hours of roughly 6:00-8:00 AM and 4:00-6:00 PM. This is because many of us work between those hours Monday through Friday. TRE holds their semi-monthly business meetings mid-week and usually either around 9:00 AM or 1:00 PM when these same riders cannot attend. The most recent attempt to overcome this was to set up on the train platforms and converse with those in route at rush hour, which was only marginally more successful as most people do not include extra chat time in their schedule for getting to and from work. Several months ago there was a Facebook page for TRE, and there are still user-created ones, but their own has nothing but the Wikipedia explanation of who they are - no information for riders and certainly no means of communication between us and them. There have been evening transit meeting about expansion, but we need to communicate directly with those making decision about the day to day operations as a group, not with just a single phone line or email contact.

A more pressing issue for hundreds of TRE riders is what appears to us as a simple matter of how to expedite passenger loading and unloading the bi-level and tri-level coaches so that the trains can be on time and we can consistently make our connections to other parts of the DFW mass transit systems. After more than a year of inconsistent operation of the doors on the first car from the engine, it was just recently made clear to some of us by the conductors that a policy of not opening the forward doors of the car has been made clear to the employees.

Whoever made this decision is apparently unaware of its impact at major stations during rush hour. This failure to use both doors on the first coach, unlike all other coaches in operation, means that everyone must exit the same door in single file and then all those waiting on the platform for that car must board in single file. At most stations this is only a minor inconvenience. However, at stations like Medical Market Center, with more than 50% of the 123-152 passengers on that coach trying to disembark, this is a considerable delay. This is far too many people to accommodate through a single door with only 1 minute planned for the stop. The understanding and good judgment of a few engineers and exemplary conductors has proven over time that the forward door needs to be in operation, at least during rush hour.

This is also confusing for new and occasional riders at Victory Station and Union station that see all the other doors opening and wait by the forward door until other passengers explain to them that they need to use the other ones. This is often left to nearby passengers because this information is not provided by signs or announcements as the train is pulling into the station.

The current policy seems to prohibit it use except for those with handicaps requiring level boarding. Even so, there is no justification not to use the same door for able bodied passenger once other needs have been addressed. This has been done with success numerous times at Medical Market Center without problems.

Acceptable Bigotry ?!?!?!

To use Rep. Chris Smith' of New Jersey's own phrase, his bill 'No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act'—H.R. 3, is a bigotted attempt to deny women personal freedom and privacy, which most American consider basic, sacred rights. This is his own "acceptable bigotry" against women!

H.R. 3 would deny medical coverage for women who rely on the government for their health insurance, including federal employees, women in the military, Native Americans, Peace Corps volunteers and poor women enrolled in Medicaid. In addition, would effectively eliminate coverage for abortion in the private market by making it onerous for insurance companies to offer these plans and imposing new taxes on businesses and individuals that purchase them.
Even more troubling, H.R. 3 would allow public hospitals to refuse to provide a medically necessary abortion to a pregnant woman facing a life-threatening emergency. This is inhumane. Stray dogs would be given better care.

This bill is also fiscally irresponsible, as it would continue the onerous burden of unwanted children and women forced to leave the workforce on to the welfare rolls; draining our resources even faster than the cost of treatment for women under Medicaid. How could a supposedly responsible Republican be so short sighted when it comes to economic realities?!

Not only is it contrary to the stated economic aims of his political party, it is part and parcel to the heinous crime he is reknowned for working to prevent - human trafficking! He should investigate how many of the victims of human slavery start their lives. Many are the overlooked, unempowered, poor who as either pregnant women with no where to turn, or the unwanted child his Right To Life campaign aids and abets.

H.R. 3 must be stopped. It is yet another thinly disguised encroachement of women's rights to privacy and freedom by a minority faction in their fanatic drive to ban a sometimes necessary medical procedure that they, themselves, will never be forced to undergo.

“Testing ….. testing….. Are you paying attention?”

As if enduring a case of the chicken pox that was worse than any military doc at Wright-Patterson AFB had ever seen was not enough of a test of my patience and endurance, now, 46 years later, it just had to let me know it was still hanging around!

Yep, the body wasn’t satisfied by emphasizing that I am aging by afflicting me with a muscle strain that runs from the base of my skull to the tips of my fingers. It just had to add Shingles for my entertainment. So now one side hurts to move or seizes up in immobilizing cramps, while the other side wriggles with muscles spasms and taunts me with an itch I can’t scratch.

Ok, Karma, just who did I wish bodily torture upon that you are returning the sentiment for?
You and my corporeal being have pretty much my full attention now!

But hopefully, not for much longer.

Did you notice I used those brain cells to figure out what was going on and find someone to help?

Yes, I know their help will not fix things completely, but guess what dear OLD body, you are in for some amusement. Those drugs you don’t like me taking because they you turn you into an inert lump of flesh - Well guess what? You are in for a round of steroid induced munching, surface and internal muscle and nerve numbing, paint you till you are all chalky pink and spend the weekend with endless movies that you will miss chunks of because you won’t be able to stay awake.

I am going to dose you well and then leave you in control. I am not going to fight to be productive. I am not going to take you out to enjoy new experiences.

Maybe you should think about at least killing off this viral pox and letting me get back to my normal crazy self, huh?

A gift from another "Santa Claus"

“Please blog about your favorite holiday …” That was as far as I read before the mental gag reflex kicked in. “How about my most Unfavorite holiday?” “The blight that decends each winter.” “The one that ruins my favorite season for a few weeks each year!”

After that purge of building bile and venom, I actually finished reading the email message and calmed down; considerably. I can empathize with Ebeneezer Scrooge. Whether his disdain for the Season of Expense and sudden gushing of emotions hidden the rest of the year was for the same reasons as my own, is of no matter.

And yet ….. sometimes ….. even those of us so alienated by this annual tsunami of mercantile fury in the guise of a faith, unbelievably not shared by all, can appreciate a very special gift of the season.

True peace, quiet, and the splendor of creation can be experienced this time of year.

A wise man, ironically the unknown twin of Santa Claus, gave me this one cold December.

I was dating the living vision of the commercial, traditional, Santa Claus. Even without a red suit, and in the middle of July heat waves, it was not uncommon for strangers to comment on how much he looked like the jolly old soul. He would be polite and smile, but as he would thank the person you could see the aggravation in his eyes, cringing behind his spectacles.

Having no family anymore, his Christmas celebrations tended to be lonely, broken only by office parties and parties at friends earlier in December, so I had invited him to my cousin’s annual gathering on Christmas Eve. It was a party I enjoyed as the regular family renunion. He accepted, but I knew it was only because there was no acceptable way for him to decline.

A few days later, he added to the plan. From the party, we would go on a road trip. A great excuse for not visiting anyone on Christmas Day! Then on the 23rd of December, with my bags already packed, we agreed that with an earlier start we would have more time at our destination. I gave my regrets to the extended family and we headed out.

As the sun set on Christmas Eve the mild temperature began to dip into a cooler range and made me hope for snow as we watched the clouds cross the multi-colored sky. It was far more facinating than my neighbors’ blinking wire reindeer.

I awoke Christmas morning to a dry, but frigid, sunrise over the Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park. The songs of wild birds are so much more inspiring than carols. Though some would have disliked the cold (about 20 F), it brought back my childhood in England and the awe of winters there. It was a truly wonderful celebration in the beauty of nature. We even shared our Christmas feast with the havelina that had become accustomed to people and came like a wayward band of waifs begging for figgy pudding.

It has been more than a decade since we were two geeks without our electronics, enjoying a Christmas without the litter of TV commercials and internet spam! I have become a far more cynical curmudgeon when it comes to the subject of religious holidays. But this memory reminds me that there really is something of worth to be found beneath the sludge of what Christmas has become for far too many people.

I just observed a coworker go to three times the effort necessary to produce a document simply because of overblown pride and stubbornness; refusing to ask for, or even accept, help of those whose purpose in being present is to perform, or at least assist, with such tasks, Rather than utter one sentence to someone who is apparently disliked, time, effort and the office resources were wasted, to produce something that was, as a result, substandard.

Though part of me is amazed at the stupidity involved, another part is reminded of how pig-headed I too can be and how truly foolish that is at times.

Why is it that we humans have such a great propensity to “cut off our nose to spite our face”? What is it that drives us to stand our ground when the overwhelming majority is against us and the issue at hand is of little or no consequence? Is it this same obstinacy that binds our legal system to value precedence over common sense when society has evolved beyond the concerns of those who created the precedence?

Sometimes one has to face the reality that when we are being intractable on an issue and citing “principle”, we are really just unwilling to change or accept that while something may not be ideal, it causes no real harm in the long run and is the best way to peacefully coexist with the other unyielding members of our species.

Now, do I give up and drive in defiance of the parking lot’s One Way signs like so many others? Or do I continue to follow the ill-planned rules, and foul my mood twice daily as I slam on the brakes in the face of oncoming drivers who stubbornly refuse to change their own habits?

Favorite Authors

Dear Best Friends,

You know how I revere your works. And I know I am far from alone in my admiration, for you are the idols of us bookworms, but for once I am writing to you, instead of because of you.

Attempting to choose one of you as the one to whom I am most connected brings pangs of guilt for those not named. No matter who I might choose, I know the rest of you will speak up to question my reasoning.

“As if there is another whose words you quote; whose words banished adolescent thoughts of suicide,” comes Mrs. Parker’s reproach. Of course, Dorothy, I owe you much and someday I may still write your poem on my bedroom ceiling.

On my bookshelf, out of reach of careless hands, is the all to well worn first book I ever read. Though I could not have told you her name without looking it up, Allison Uttley’s images of little Fuzzypeg and his holey blue smock are a fresh in my mind as they were in 1957

Honore, do you think Mrs. Uttley’s tale of Fuzzypeg’s being led astray from school would have held attention on the Decameron? The shift in tone would almost reflect the shift I made from child to adult – abrupt - but the theme and personalities remain the same.

Monsieur De Maupassant, knowing the mere mention of dear Balzac piques your interest, would you favor us with a treatment of the story, changing the characters to people of La Belle Epoque? Or do you think one of your short stories already tells this tale?

Then, while your stories merge in my memories, another voice, more current , grows louder.

“The spirit of my words inspire your daily discourse with my countrymen and our symbols look down over you each morning and night from your caligraphy. Would you place poems and little stories you rarely, if ever, read twice before the inspiration my disclosures have given since the first paragraph of mine you read?”

I know you will forgive my dwelling in a bit of revelry, Jung Chang. As you say, I cannot turn my back on the quest for truth that you and Irwin Tang have set me on, nor still my voice that you so often bring to life. Thank you for giving expression and facts to what I somehow already understood, and for leading me to so many others whose words need to be known.