So I will.
Starting now.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Thursday, July 8, 2010
swing me high as you can into the wild blue
Earlier this week I went to Lincoln Center to go swing dancing as part of their Midsummer's Night Swing series. Almost every night in July is free music for the public to dance to - salsa, mambo, tango, disco or swing. It was a sweltering hot day, but I pinned my hair back and put on my pink polka-dot skirt anyway and headed out for a night of twirling and spinning.
The band was the New Orleans Moonshiners, who were a sort of 1940s jazz/swing band. I loved it. I especially love being asked to dance. It makes me feel like a true lady when a man offers his hand to me and leads me out on the dance floor. Sometimes older gentleman, and I mean in their 60s or 70s older, can be seen out and it makes me happy to think they are reliving a moment from generations ago when they danced with their sweethearts to the very same music.
I man who must have been in his mid-t0-late sixties asked me to dance and I happily obliged, especially considering he was wearing an old sailor's hat. Who could resist? We danced like kids, making up moves as we went along. After the song was over, he held my hand and started leading me through the crowd calling out, "Poppa!" to who I could only assume was his father. For a moment the mob of people parted and there stood this gentleman's dad, who couldn't have been any younger than 80 or 90! The son put my hand into his father's and pushed us onto the floor to dance. I wondered if this is what it must feel like to be the chosen bride in an arranged marriage and passed off to a new suitor in exchange for a few cows. Or perhaps this is what it feels like to be the belle of the ball, where you are deemed "the one" that must be danced with. Either way, I danced with a man who could be my great grandfather - and he was good! He spun me so hard I actually lost my footing and fell to the ground. All I could do was laugh and get up and keep on dancing.
The band was the New Orleans Moonshiners, who were a sort of 1940s jazz/swing band. I loved it. I especially love being asked to dance. It makes me feel like a true lady when a man offers his hand to me and leads me out on the dance floor. Sometimes older gentleman, and I mean in their 60s or 70s older, can be seen out and it makes me happy to think they are reliving a moment from generations ago when they danced with their sweethearts to the very same music.
I man who must have been in his mid-t0-late sixties asked me to dance and I happily obliged, especially considering he was wearing an old sailor's hat. Who could resist? We danced like kids, making up moves as we went along. After the song was over, he held my hand and started leading me through the crowd calling out, "Poppa!" to who I could only assume was his father. For a moment the mob of people parted and there stood this gentleman's dad, who couldn't have been any younger than 80 or 90! The son put my hand into his father's and pushed us onto the floor to dance. I wondered if this is what it must feel like to be the chosen bride in an arranged marriage and passed off to a new suitor in exchange for a few cows. Or perhaps this is what it feels like to be the belle of the ball, where you are deemed "the one" that must be danced with. Either way, I danced with a man who could be my great grandfather - and he was good! He spun me so hard I actually lost my footing and fell to the ground. All I could do was laugh and get up and keep on dancing.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
austin
I haven't blogged in awhile. I miss writing. This is the cliche blog post about how I want to blog again. We'll see if I stick to it. I just returned from an amazing trip to Austin, Texas. Pictures below.
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