yeah.
Relief Society homemaking (or whatever we are calling it now) and it's raining cats, dogs, goats and cucumbers.
Rain, arthritis and casts don't go well together but I was game. Beth came to take me to the festivities and get me out of the house so I don't go more looney than I already am.
I admit it, I was sort ot looking forward to just leaving the confines of the house.
It was 'share your talents' night. We were encouraged to bring out our hidden talents and share them.
Everyone knows I play musical instruments and sing, so that stayed home. Everyone knows I am a sports nut, so the sweat sox and ball bag didn't make the trip.
Instead, I brought some of my scribblings from an almighty disturbed mind and took the time to enjoy the company of my best friend and assorted gals at our table.
We laughed, we snorted, we hooted with glee.
Then we got told to hush.
Whatever.
Don't be hatin' on us because you are sitting at the old people's table!! Nobody made you be all crotchety and humorless but yourself!
I'm glad I went.
Even the table had fall leaves on it.
It was a good night.
And it gave me yet another reason to be thankful that I surround myself with people who love to laugh and enjoy the gospel light without the word "prune" being involved.
God bless us, everyone. Especially those who checked their sense of humor at the door.
October 13, 2009
October 12, 2009
Fantasy
Always having loved music, I find from time to time my mind drifts into the world of fantasy and wishful thinking.
I was listening to a lovely combo piece by Craig Russo called 'Arrival'.
Just hearing it sends me to another place and another time.
Whether playing the soothing heartbeat of the sweetened Latin Jazz or simply dancing to the music and its soft-footed shuffle, I love this kind of music.
Back in my younger days, I had the opportunity to dance with a Latin man named Julio. He was from South America, Peru I think, but this man had swivel hips and a come hither smile that was accompanied by a slow burn in a jazz combo. Exuding charm, grace and lithe movement, he made every woman he danced with look like a star beneath the decorations in the gym.
Sure in each flowing line and capable of leading in a 'come, follow me' approach, he taught me to move in ways I had never done before, nor most assuredly, since.
When we danced, the music was the path and Julio was the guide. My husband Rick is a wonderful man, but dancer he is not. I didn't fall in love with him because he could dance. Being both a romantic and a realist, I knew we couldn't live long on the samba and hoped for more than a man who could just dance.
But every once in a while when I hear this kind of music, I wish that I could feel that Latin heartbeat again.
I used to tell people that with my love of Latin food and music that I had been stolen from a Latin family and raised by a bunch of Anglos. Of course, with my blonde hair and blue-green eyes, no one believes me anyhow. But in my heart, the rhythm is gonna get me... to borrow a phrase from Gloria Estefan.
I confess envy for those who samba, salsa and shake their maracas to the siren song from south of the border. And I wish I would have the opportunity to pull together a nice, tight combo so that I could play the percussive pattern that changes music from mundane to moving.
Lacking that opportunity, I'll just have to content myself with the reality that I can hear that syncopated beat in my soul.
I may not have been stolen from a Latin family, but I have been adopted into it by the rhythm of the combo.
I was listening to a lovely combo piece by Craig Russo called 'Arrival'.
Just hearing it sends me to another place and another time.
Whether playing the soothing heartbeat of the sweetened Latin Jazz or simply dancing to the music and its soft-footed shuffle, I love this kind of music.
Back in my younger days, I had the opportunity to dance with a Latin man named Julio. He was from South America, Peru I think, but this man had swivel hips and a come hither smile that was accompanied by a slow burn in a jazz combo. Exuding charm, grace and lithe movement, he made every woman he danced with look like a star beneath the decorations in the gym.
Sure in each flowing line and capable of leading in a 'come, follow me' approach, he taught me to move in ways I had never done before, nor most assuredly, since.
When we danced, the music was the path and Julio was the guide. My husband Rick is a wonderful man, but dancer he is not. I didn't fall in love with him because he could dance. Being both a romantic and a realist, I knew we couldn't live long on the samba and hoped for more than a man who could just dance.
But every once in a while when I hear this kind of music, I wish that I could feel that Latin heartbeat again.
I used to tell people that with my love of Latin food and music that I had been stolen from a Latin family and raised by a bunch of Anglos. Of course, with my blonde hair and blue-green eyes, no one believes me anyhow. But in my heart, the rhythm is gonna get me... to borrow a phrase from Gloria Estefan.
I confess envy for those who samba, salsa and shake their maracas to the siren song from south of the border. And I wish I would have the opportunity to pull together a nice, tight combo so that I could play the percussive pattern that changes music from mundane to moving.
Lacking that opportunity, I'll just have to content myself with the reality that I can hear that syncopated beat in my soul.
I may not have been stolen from a Latin family, but I have been adopted into it by the rhythm of the combo.
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