The Dancing Queen

A few years ago my daughter gave me a plaque with the inscription Dance Like There Is No One Looking. Tears poured down my cheeks in a surprise outburst of emotion ... my child understood, clearly saw, and acknowledged my spirit.

My family has watched (in horror?) as I "secretly" danced around the house, in the yard, car, and occasionally, publicly, on the dance floor. Elaine Benes on Seinfeld had nothing on me - we shared a unique dance expression.

Seinfeld The Elaine Dance* https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Elaine+Seinfeld+Dancing+Long+Version&&view=detail&mid=837E63003BC598A9F80D837E63003BC598A9F80D&&FORM=VRDGAR

In junior high I attended an occasional dance with my girlfriend where we were mercilessly teased and mimicked by the boys (boys will be boys, sigh). Over the years, as I revisited the memory, my confidence had already been affected to the point where I'd hide my "cool" dance moves. I still danced but for my eyes and entertainment only.

A turning point in my dance-insecurity was at a cousin’s wedding ... an aunt pulled me to the dance floor as the DJ played a particularly popular and fun song. Now this aunt was a wonderful dancer, as are some of my family, so I was hesitant, shy, afraid, and excited all at the same time. My aunt's beaming smile was an encouragement and so I danced albeit stiffly and awkwardly.

The first dance ended and we were having a ball. I felt eyes on us and almost backed off the floor but the pull of the music was too much. We urged some of our children onto the floor and all evening I danced "like there was no one looking". I felt like The Dancing Queen. I twisted, bopped my head, bobbed my rear, even made up dance moves for the lyrics of some songs. Concern for other's opinion went out the window to the lyrics of Y M C A. I just danced! Just danced!

My imperfections are abundant, especially in dancing, but overall and in the scheme of life - who cares? Bullies can impact our future - I absolutely know - but it is so refreshing to rise above the memories and be relatively free of judgers (still a work in progress). Dancing freely as I do now at weddings is so much fun and allows me to express myself, perhaps I make myself a "fool" - I feel at peace with this.

Just remember if you are going to invite me to your family wedding -- I have me some good moves, and I'll use them.



"In Feresten's 8th-season Seinfeld episode "The Little Kicks," the dance has more disastrous effects for Elaine (Benes): Her staff at J. Peterman, after seeing her dance, loses respect for her. When Jerry and Kramer tell her she "stinks" at dancing, she videotapes herself to see -- and wrecks the bootlegged movie Jerry was working on." (from Yahoo! TV Jennifer Keishin Armstrong, Oct. 10, 2016)

Pursued by a Bear

My breath came in gasps as panic-adrenalin fed my legs allowing me to run faster as a bear chased me, matching step-for-step, loud and intense, my life was about to end. Skip-running frantically in the calf-deep waves of Lake Michigan - a forest on one side and open water on the other - and a bear paralleling me in the woods.

The bear kept pace with me as my legs rose and fell quickly slicing through the cold wavy lake, my only thought was "it" was going to hurt, and hurt badly. 

Terrified of bears since I was a child this was my worst nightmare ... perhaps my last one. 

I ran faster, my wet clothes sloshing and splashing in the water.

I slowed to catch my breath. 

The bear slowed down.

I ran. 

The bear ran.

The waves were too noisy for anyone to hear me scream, as if I could.  My breath was coming in such gasps that I was forced to slow again. I bravely or stupidly looked back.  The bear stopped, and although the forest hid the beast, I felt how close he was, sensed him, smelled his musty fur.

I ran, and the bear started after me again. With each paw step closer, my panic intensified.

As I was about to be crunched in the bear's jaws a funny noise came from my shorts. I slowed down, the bear slowed down. Oh my good Lord, the noise was the sound my wet canvas shorts made as canvas rubbed on canvas making a strangely bear-sounding noise. The bear was the noise of my pants. 

I breathlessly laughed from the tension at my narrow escape from what I thought was a sure and painful death. 

I suppose my take-away is that if you are terrified of something unseen - stop and breathe - the "thing" may be a figment of imagination created from your own wet pants.

Planning for the Holidays

When the winter holidays approach – Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve and Day – a mild flutter of anticipation grows in the depths of my gut. After all, Santa Claus IS coming to town.

I am a born planner and organizer, avoid Pinterest design ideas, preferring to create - attempt to anyway - outside of the online box.

My husband and children would agree that holidays are exciting to me with their many events, family gatherings, decorating, smells, and creative thinking in choosing the perfect gifts. I am an idealist and truly believe each year that the holidays will be joyful, plans will run smoothly, and there will be peace and love with all. I’m my mom’s child and she was an optimist – how could she be so upbeat when in reality holidays are so exhausting and imperfect.

Fatigue is of my own making as I struggle with an auto immune disease but still have plans in place to:

·       Hosting Thanksgiving dinner for approximately 30-35 family members to include three turkeys and a duck, seriously.

·       Decorating with snowmen (no Santa figures until the day is over).

·       Clearing the backroom after the meal for people to decorate gingerbread houses with the blessed and total leadership of my girls.

·       Continue my walking with an average goal of 3.01 miles daily.

·       A soup meal with friends at my house in early December, when the house will be fully decorated with two trees, snowmen and Santa figurines.

·       Attending a cookie decorating party, making select cookies to add to the treats.

·       Jumping into a weekly book study about the holidays and how to create a peaceful time for everyone (don’t I wish). If only my thoughts and actions would align with the authors of this book. But, I try…

·       Organizing a special dinner at a local restaurant with friends.

·       Holding a girl-only (first time doing this) family Christmas gift exchange.

·       Having a Christmas time with our children a week before Christmas so all can attend.

·       Mulling over having a field trip to the Zoo to see the lights and animals on Christmas Eve.

·       More walking and thinking of what needs to be purchased, wrapped, fixed, cleaned, cooked, for all the above festivities.

·       Trying to remain cheerful this year while also remembering and grieving the loss of a sister.

·       Feeling blessed.

I want to assure you, dear reader, that, for me, these holiday gatherings, are fun to anticipate, and done with an attempt to share the spirit of the season – but, as a fallible human, tiring. I do acknowledge the secular along with the religious and spiritual aspects of Christmas.

As most planners know, activities and events come with many “cons” and “pros” which I leave to your imaginations and experiences. 

I wish for you a peaceful, joy-filled, relaxing Christmas. As for me, I’m collecting some good reading materials for the time between Christmas and through New Year’s Day.

My Ankles are Showing

I turned on the radio the moment a well-known “fashion guru” stated that Capri pants are essentially an abomination. What? A quick judgement of these pants worn by literally everyone I know. Perhaps he never wore these gifts of god, their cooling comfort embracing of the calf – I could live in them, and do during warm weather. Does this mean I am a little off in my fashion sense? Well, yes, and no.

Reminiscing about my (many) faux pas … which in one case was an embarrassing, fashion wise, social situation. It began with an active day out in public oblivious to the length of my pants. No one said a thing –  not even those near and dear friends who joined me on this fun day.

When festivities were over I went home, still oblivious, and glanced in the hallway mirror, my focus immediately gravitated to my pants, which were easily two inches above my shoe tops. I groaned as recounting the numerous gatherings I participated in and could only hope (and pray) that observers enjoyed a chuckle over me and my goofy pants.

Capri pants would have solved the day.

Seriously, to be so pre-occupied over high-water pants is sad, of so little value and importance in the scheme of life. So what if I wore high-waters - they were comfortable. 

Running over finish line with cousins

On a hiking trip, I saw an older woman walking the trail wearing even higher high-water pants.  Smiling, I thought how cute she was and felt a kinship.  Why I focused so much time in how fashion-challenged I had been … and yet found high-waters charming on another … is a mystery. Seeing her and experiencing a comradery made me feel better.  Not cool - but better.

I suppose I have learned to embrace my nerdiness and loudly protest the “expert” fashion guru as he so arrogantly maligned Capri’s. For me, they are perfect to wear for a rainy, windy day along the shores of Lake Superior … or anywhere for that matter. So there!

I am an Olympian

I deeply believe, to a point, that hidden memories can sometimes be crucial to good mental health. Perhaps the brain shuts down to protect you from the good, bad and ugly. Or, maybe not. 

When a memory erupts through our consciousness - a period of quiet focus follows with either pain, delight, tears or a smile.

As a child, my dream was to be an Olympian – I ran barefoot through the school yard … fast. I entered races, ran the track at the local community college, and was tireless. But, alas, a “true” Olympic caliber runner would be able to circle me at least twice and still easily beat my time, but I could dream. No one could take away my dream, except for me.

Years passed with an occasional heart tug at how quickly my goal of the Olympics was extinguished, perhaps through lack of support, environmental or monetary issues, or my own abilities. But, I did think about what my life would have been like as an Olympian and figuratively kicked myself for not working more diligently toward that goal. In reality, it was unattainable as my body was not of the lucky "fast twitch" type, but in my heart I was on the starting line.

One day I shared this regret with one of my daughters. I'm sure I admonished her to grab hold of life and she could do anything she set her heart on, yada yada yada. She blurted out, rather defensively if I remember, that I had been an Olympian.

Huh?

In the flash of a nano-second, the memory surfaced - sharp, clear, real - I had been an Olympian.

For my entire tomboy life, I was deeply in love with fast-pitch softball, living and breathing the sport, even having the honor of being voted the "Most Valuable Player" multiple times.

One day I arrived home to a mailed invitation - I was selected to compete on a softball team in the Mid-Michigan Olympics. Of course, I did compete, played shortstop - my favorite position - and don't remember if we won or lost ... another deep memory hidden. Nevertheless, I was an Olympian, not in running as I thought but achieved my dream. 

It is a mystery to me exactly why my memory shut down on that particularly exciting achievement, and not just for a short time but for years. Memory sure is a puzzle, isn't it? What memories could you be hiding?

Solar Eclipse and Moon Bubbles

The Solar Eclipse 2017 was yesterday and although we were not located in its direct path, excitement over this event was extreme throughout Michigan and in our house. Two of my brothers and a good friend live on opposite sides of the United States and were in the "Path of Totality" - how wonderful is that? I planned to walk during the eclipse and convinced my daughter that it would help her remember the moment of the eclipse if she joined me - which she was more than happy to do. Sans NASA approved glasses, we assured each other we'd not look directly at the sun.

Waiting for the Eclipse

I shared with her my thoughts that when an event as pure as an eclipse occurs it is as if a new beginning for each of us has occurred. We have a clean slate from that day forward to: make changes, start a new path, try something different.  As in New Years where we make resolutions/goals, or a birthday when you might reevaluate your path - we can view these events as a start to change or an embracing of  current life choices. I shared that I felt a newness or adventure in myself and hope she will be open to ruminate what these events mean for her.

I've been exploring Art Journaling and purchased two notebooks for this purpose the evening before. Eclipse Morning I met at a favorite coffee shop with two friends, one of whom is an artist, who told me about a class being held at her gallery this Saturday on, wait for it ... creating an ART JOURNAL! - and in the timeline of the Eclipse. I signed up immediately. Although art is not, most definitely not, my gift or talent, I've always carried a predilection or desire to be an artist of sorts. So, trying something new, different, challenging seemed the ticket to post-Eclipse direction. I look forward to learning about this method of expression and also have some ideas of my own.

• using quotes which I've collected from movies, books, other media
• adding pictures cut from magazines or old photos
• embellishing the pages by writing short thoughts about it
• discovering techniques for adding color
• exploring my abilities as an art journal-er

I shot this picture with my iPhone 7 on our 2017 Eclipse walk after my daughter showed me the unique shadows from the sun/moon effect - and explained why they occurred. The scattered and numerous moon beam shadows were everywhere ... surreal. I call them moon bubbles ... what a celestial gift.

 

Blogger's Block

I'm at a bump in the road with Blogger’s Block – an uncomfortable condition where ideas, thoughts, and even words are struggling to be placed on “paper”. I researched Writer’s Block and learned that a change of environment might help - so am visiting a new coffee shop where my large white cup is holding a bold, black brew, and am listening to contemporary folk music … my large table (a great find) is clean and free of distractions. Two professors are sharing the other end talking about their upcoming classes but find this as white noise in the background. A Garmin can passively lead us to our destination – but I’m now in the writing driver’s seat with no GPS, on my own, literally. So am brainstorming various thoughts to help loosen up my grey matter and my fingers to see if that breaks the chains of this oppressive block.

I take every possible opportunity to drive the roads less traveled. Often great adventure is around corners: hidden gems, undiscovered shops, stunning scenery. To balance out the good, occasionally we have found ourselves hopelessly lost. My husband and I would calmly chat as if we knew exactly where we were and try to end this little adventure of the lost, attempting to distract our brood by telling stories or sharing, what my husband and I think are leg-slapper jokes.

I own nice cameras but prefer to take pictures with my iPhone 7. I’ve taken photography classes, belong to two photo clubs, and yet, my realm of comfort lies with my mobile phone. Having “experts” share how they photograph scenery, sports, flowers, nature, landscapes … the hours spent looking for a perfect shot … the F-stop, aperture, shutter speed, sun and moon conditions …. blah blah blah! I have spent countless wasted hours silently comparing my (lack of) expertise to these photographers. My level of interest went down as I knew I’d never measure up or to be taken seriously as a photographer/blogger. Not being a passive woman and to distance myself from comparisons, I plan to leave these clubs and begin a comfort with myself taking “good enough” shots with my iPhone, occasionally shooting with a camera. All are synced to my iPad for easy editing, posting, and developing. For my emotional health - the right choice.

I read books about people who love books, bibliophiles, women's true adventure stories, and the stories behind recipes in cookbooks. My collection of these genres is ever-expanding. Give me a comfy chair, coffee, and allow me to vicariously live another's life for an hour in the comfort of my home, bookstore, or coffee shop. Through my reading adventures, I discovered a town in England where bookstores are around every corner. Sixpence House by Paul Collins takes place in the Welsh countryside in the village of Hay-on-Wye, a Town of Books, boasting forty bookstores. In Deep Water Passage: A Spiritual Journey at Midlife by Ann Linnea, I kayak around Lake Superior with her during a summer of cold, wind, rain and sleet. I sit transfixed on the edge of my figurative kayak imagining her battle with heavy winds while safe shore is unreachable in this frigid, people eating lake. A Year By the Sea by Joan Anderson is inspirational in a strange way as she takes a year away from family living by herself in Cape Cod. Although I’m not planning to take a year away from my husband, I love reading about the insights and freedom she experiences in this daring move.

Cooking is not (yet) my gift. Owning a plethora of cookbooks and food magazines, I think like a cook but without the expertise or desire to create these recipes. I’d like to train myself to take a chance and am inspired to when finishing my “Where Women Create” magazine. In my head, my kitchen is magical and I find myself planning new designs for this very tiny, galley room. I’m blocked by previous cooking experiences with crockpot liver stew, putting orange juice on All Bran for breakfast, mushy meats … but, there is always hope. One of my favorite movies, Julie & Julia, has Julie Powell cooking each and every recipe in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in a year’s time. Julie began documenting this experience in a blog, which led me to begin blogging. So, in a way, I am a cook.

I save fun words and unique sentences. I enjoy the spiciness of what others have written to me over the years … and I save these gems – and clip your unique way of speaking and writing. Yes, I am a plagiarist of you as you are blindly creative, and your word treasures feed my muse … are at times fun and blog worthy.