The Irvington Lodge

Washington Street. I think every city has a Washington Street. Something about the founding father’s name and a place becoming ‘someplace’ go together. So villages become towns, towns acquire mayors and councils, and streets stop being “the road that runs past the Miller place”. Inevitably, they get named after presidents or trees. Business flourishes and with that fraternal orders and organizations are founded. These organizations fulfill basic needs: Masons, Odd Fellows, Elks, and a hundred others have come and gone through the centuries – all of them geared toward serving the working man, providing benefits and gathering places and cementing the people of the town together.


Time passes. A hundred years of expansion and contraction, social upheaval, America re-inventing itself with cement and steel. Towns that had been isolated entities grow and merge, becoming cities. The growth obliterates the past, old buildings are cleared away for modern life. But some markers of the past remain.

On Wednesday we went to the east side of Indianapolis to visit Irvington. Irvington Lodge Number 666 (can’t make that up!) used to be (and may still be, I was unable to find information on the web about the lodge) the home of the Masons. We attended the Indianapolis Senior’s Center Spring Fling, a small dance intended for senior citizens. Kelly’s parents are members of the center and occasionally we attend one of their dances.

When I go to one of these dances I’m always impressed by the men and women there. Not because they’re all incredible dancers or that they’re doing any fancy moves, but because they’re out there dancing when all of society says they ought to be stored away somewhere. One fellow there was 94 years old – in fact it was his birthday – and he’s at a dance. I hope at 94 I’m dancing whether it’s swinging or shuffling.

The dance took place on the second floor. The hall was a lovely. At 6:30 the late afternoon sun was slanting in through the tall windows, casting bright rectangles on the oak floor. The arts and crafts décor is simple and elegant, not ostentatious or overblown like many Masonic lodges. We sat in folding chairs along the wall, the same way it would have been done a hundred years ago. As I’m prone to do I started wondering about how many people had sat in that same place and what they might have been thinking. Maybe one late spring afternoon, while the sun slanted in through the windows.

Cross Pollination

I’ve written often about dance stylings and individual expression. It's a favorite topic. Gary and I have been encouraged by our clave/salsa instructor Shayne to make up our own. Our ballroom instructor Melissa gives us styling options, or sometimes we create a move together, which we call The Dance Lab. :-)

All of this has come fairly easy for us, especially within our swing dances. That makes sense, because swing (of all varieties) and salsa too are considered “street” dances in that they are supposed to be somewhat wild and free.

But what about other dances? Say, the rumba?

The rumba Gary and I had always considered more “formal”, and as such we hadn’t messed around with it too much. But lately we’ve been prodding and poking the rumba too. I guess it was just a matter of time. That’s what we do.

All in all we've discovered that 1) the human body can only move so many ways and so “creating” steps is probably discovering what others have, and 2) most steps can be taken from other dances and mixed in, although we do keep some steps for certain dances

Here’s what we’ve done so far. We made up a move we call The Vulcan; Gary acts like he pushes me down by the shoulder (I actually just go down on one leg…it’s all effect). We do this out of a WCS move called The Surprise (I turn backwards on the last half of the basic). The Vulcan translates really well into the rumba, as do a couple of clave stylings which we also added.

The rumba is becoming “ours.” Now for the foxtrot…

Goin’ to the Prom

Ah, the Prom…one of life’s coming of age moments, at least in the Western world. Say “prom” outside our borders and I’m not sure many would get it, let alone understand the trials and tribulations associated with the event here in the USA.

The term “prom” comes from the word “promenade,” meaning a march of guests into a ballroom to announce the beginning of the dance. The first proms could be seen as middle class replications of the high society debutante balls. Proms were created around the 1930s as less elaborate affairs where average teens could meet in their finest duds to eat dinner and dance, practicing the social etiquette needed to launch them into marriage and life in the ‘burbs. The Prom is still a chance to get gussied up, but I don’t believe today’s young people would see it as a rehearsal for adult life. But…it’s still a big deal.

I never went to my high school prom…or any other major dance for that matter. Back then I thought it was because I was ugly. Now looking back, I think rather it was because I was 1) rather different, and 2) stared at my feet. I’m sure from a young man’s perspective I appeared standoffish and weird.

Not going to the prom when you are 17 or 18 is awful then, and a non issue now. I can’t remember my classmates, let along the prom’s theme. And now that I enjoy dancing at all sorts of lovely venues the idea of a missed prom seems so yesterday. But yet, there’s always been a bit of wistfulness. It is something you can never go back to…what’s gone is gone.

Or is it?

Last night Gary and I attended the Senior Prom at the Indianapolis Roof. By “senior’ I mean the Indianapolis Senior Center sponsored this event. My parents, members of the club, invited Gary and me to come along.

The crowd was mixed; young, old, and in between. The band was good (Tony Barron Orchestra), the food excellent. As always, it was so sweet to see my parents twirling around the dance floor. I danced a foxtrot with my dad. At seventeen, I would never have done this. Here we are:



Also at seventeen I couldn’t have dreamed I would someday meet a man like my Gary. And to be truthful, just like dancing with my dad would have been decidedly un-cool back then, my high school self wasn’t near ready for the kind of man Gary is.

Adult proms are special. It was so romantic to be at the Prom with the date of my dreams. How many girls can say that? Sigh.

No More Fake Tan

Warning: Girly Post

Could it be your intrepid dancer has GIVEN UP her beloved fake tan? She of the long time use and proficient technique? She who wrote a post lauding the virtues of fake tan not more than a few weeks ago?

It's a woman's prerogative, isn’t it, to change her mind?

And so I have. I still love the look. And you can bet if I head to the beach (or the Midwest equivalent) I will once again spray, rub, and lotion myself tan. But I’ve found, like many items of beauty and fashion, fake tan isn’t always the best dancing partner.

Dancing is a sport. I have to keep reminding myself of that. Especially the way Gary and I dance, which is very athletic. I wear lace up dance shoes for the most part. And I’m sad to say that when I sweat, that lovely tan rubs off…on my beautiful Argentina dance shoes! Eeeek! Not to mention when the shoes come off I now have white flipper feet attached to tan ankles. Not attractive.

So what’s a pale legged, no hose wearin’ when hot, gal to do? Well…maybe I should embrace my paleness. Beige skin is in, right? All those vampires running around in films and books? I should love my natural hue.

Sounds good. But I can’t do it. I was brought up in an era when a suntan wasn’t unhealthy. I will probably always see a golden glow as beautiful. So I investigated what else I could use and discovered… body shimmer. This stuff can be smoothed over legs, arms, and shoulders, avoiding the area where my shoe comes in contact with my foot. Tan it’s not, but it does give the skin a pretty glow and smooth surface. And it comes right off next shower.

Shimmers exist in a myriad of colors and glitter levels. You can also choose lotions, oils, or loose powders. I dabbled around with a few, and have come up with a couple that are not outrageously expensive.

I like lotions the best. Nivea makes a lovely one that comes in various shades. The shimmer is subtle…nice for day. For evening the Body Shop does a lotion that is glimmery gold without looking like you dumped a packet of glitter over you. It’s perfect for evening. If you want something with more substance, L’oreal makes a pretty shimmer cream. Good for shoulders.

It’s funny how dancing, unlike anything else, has changed the way I choose clothing, makeup, and shoes. I never consider buying an article of clothing now without assessing its danc-a-bility. I cut my hair short in the summer because I can’t stand it on my neck when I dance during hot weather. I keep my nails short so I don’t spear Gary’s palm. And now my fake tan has gone by the wayside. Seesh. What next?

This dancing thing is just plain crazy.

Crazy good.

Dancing in the Glade

Spring has finally come to Indiana; the air is warm, flowers are blooming, and the feeling of anticipation in the air. I thought I would celebrate by posting my favorite fairy painting by Edward Robert Hughes and a snippet of my favorite fairy poem by Yeats, Stolen Child. Here they are:



Come away oh human child
To the waters and the wild
With a fairy hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

In some ways they both have a a pensiveness about them; the woman in the painting seems reluctant to dance with the fairies, even though she is clearly invited. The Yeats poem certainly seems full of longing.

For me, neither the painting nor the poem are sad...they are both a reminder that life is full of possibilities, but it is finite.

Gary and I determined this year to bring as much excitement to our Latin dancing as we have to our many swings. Latin dancing hasn't come naturally to us. It's hard, especially the clave. We've tried it out a couple of times and it blew up.

But that's OK. Dancing is hard. It's the most difficult thing I've ever done. It's sometimes embarrassing to mess up. But making mistakes comes with the territory.

I don't want to be that woman in the glade, worrying that I won't be as good as my fairy hosts. I don't want to stand around all night wondering what could have been. And I don't want to leave this earth thinking too bad I never went to a Latin club.

So. If you've ever wanted to dance...dance! It's spring. A time of renewal. To try something new. In the words of one of my new favorites to dance to, Lady Gaga, just...dance. :-)

Just dance, gonna be okay,
Just dance, spin that record babe,
Just dance, gonna be okay,
Dance, dance, just.

So Very Behind...

So, I've been so very behind in just about everything lately. Spring slows me down. I don't get it, I get through sleet, snow, and slush without a hitch but when the grass turns green and the robins start bopping by the window...well, all sense of priority gets lost. Anyway, I got a comment back around St. Patrick's Day asking where the Irish music was. Good question. There's lots of it and I totally neglected putting together a playlist. And to think my mother's maiden name is Murphy!


Anyway, accept this pitiful pittance as my apology. An amazing Rockabilly band with a singer from Dublin, Imelda May!