Ouch

Injuries are a part of any sport. And dancing, while beautiful, is very much a sport.

About five months ago I hurt my shoulder. I ignored it, thinking it would get better. It didn't. So I finally went to the doc. I had rotator cuff issues plus a dash of frozen shoulder. I didn't know I had a rotator cuff, and who knew body parts could freeze??

But after many months of therapy and a big ol' cortisone shot, it's almost completely well.

Learnings? One. If you hurt yourself go sooner rather than later. My shoulder would not have gotten as inflamed had I done that. Two. Don't get discouraged. It took a long time for me to get better. There were some moves I couldn't do for awhile. Three. Be careful. I haven't stopped doing jumps, leaps, and drops, but I approach them like an athlete now, which means I learn them slowly and don't do them when I"m tired. Or Gary is tired. :-)

There will be injuries. There will probably be more the older I get. But I intend on doing the lindy hop way past when people think I ought to. I'm just like that.

Here's a pic of us doing a drop. It feels so good to be able to do them again. Thanks Dr. Sallay (Methodist Sports in Indy), and Scott (the PT). I may not be a professional dancer, but dancing is one of the most important things in my life

Just Right

Since none of our close friends dance, Gary and I either sit by ourselves at dances or with family members. We’ve met some really really nice people, but our priority is dancing, not socializing, which I would say is generally true of most folks who come. Also, most venues we attend the dances are a couple of hours. Gary and I get in, dance, and come home exhausted. It’s a good thing.

The Indianapolis Roof is a little different. Those dances are four hours. And you sit at big round tables. It can feel…lonely. It wouldn’t if Gary and I got a small, two person table, but those are on the balcony, far away from the dance floor. When family members come it’s fabulous, but that doesn’t always happen.

We tried different tables. Some were filled with terrified people. Others were occupied with folks who helped make those people feel terrified; critical of every move and outfit that passed by them. Where, we wondered, were the fun people? The ones who dance for the pure joy of it?

We found them. We first met Jack and Bev, the couple whose wedding we attended a few weeks ago. Then Jack brought his brother. Last night they took a man celebrating his 91st birthday…still dancing I might add…and a charming woman. Other couples who sit at this table have either joined in the revelry, or they don’t return.

And we do have fun. Last night was no exception. Jack and Bev did a samba with new steps they’d been working on and we cheered. Gary and I did a west coast swing and they clapped for us. We women pick out the prettiest dresses. Lou told us all about the last time he’d been to the Roof…70 years ago!!! We laugh at Jack’s jokes. But when the music starts and someone wants to dance, we dance.

What no one at the table does? Criticize others. And that, as Goldilocks would say, makes our table just right. Ahhhhhh.

Happy Birthday Lou

We had the good fortune of sitting with Lou tonight when we went to the Indiana Roof. Today was Lou’s birthday – his 91st birthday. In fact, the last time he visited the Roof was back in January of 1941 on New Year’s Eve. Pause to imagine that for a moment. 11 months from the day he first visited the Roof, the Japanese would bomb Pearl Harbor. Shortly after, he’d be off to the war, risking his life for his country and traveling to a lot of places he’d never seen before. It’d be seventy years before he’d return to the Roof, I just feel lucky to have had the chance to sit at the same table as he did.

Every time I meet someone like Lou I’m left sincerely hoping that, at the age of 91, I’ve got the wherewithal and health to keep dancing. I hope that, no matter what life throws at me, I’ll keep going. I hope that I’ll remember what it means to dance, how to let the weight of life drop long enough to enjoy a good band and an afternoon with the one I love.

Irony Instead of Dance

I guess the thing about irony is its unexpectedness. I mean, you can’t really be prepared for irony, there can’t be planned irony. It’s the sort of thing you have to stumble into, that you have to find stuck to the bottom of your shoe. Consider the case of last night’s visit to the Indiana State Fair as an example. With the tragedy of Saturday’s stage collapse fresh in my mind, I expected the crowd to be subdued and the mood to be somewhat somber. No surprises on those points. The irony came with seeing the makeshift memorial to the five persons who lost their lives sandwiched between one of Indy’s swing clubs on the east and Terry Lee and his Rockaboogie Band on the west.

Maybe this is the nature of life. Maybe life recognizes relief has to be contained inside sorrow. I’m not sure and, if I were, this dance blog wouldn’t be the place to expound my views on philosophy. All I can say is that, sitting on a bench in the shade, watching people come to the memorial in ones and twos to leave their tokens behind it felt right to see expressions of joy on both sides. It seemed to say that out of peace and happiness, sorry arises but it ultimately will be replaced by new (if altered) peace and happiness. Things never will be ‘the same’ but then they shouldn’t be. If we shrugged everything off and returned to what had always been normal we’d be a lot like wildebeest – a lion might have taken one of our heard but given time we return to stupidly grazing on the savannah.

Amalgamation

A friend sent this to me and I watched it in awe. Talk about dance blending! Are they acrobats? Ballet dancers? Both yes, but together something more than the sum. Wow.

Swango

Our dance teacher Melissa has learned yet another dance for us…Swango! Gary and I have wanted this dance for awhile now. First we ordered a CD and tried to teach ourselves. Swango is a combination of west coast swing and Argentina tango. We know WCS but not tango. We taught ourselves a move. It was OK, but something was missing.

Then we gave the CD to Melissa. We hate doing this because Melissa has enough on her plate without us trotting out yet another dance…and she’s already learned and taught us rockabilly and numerous moves we’ve sent her via youtube. But in the end we did ask, because we knew she would make us look beautiful and she graciously agreed.

The way we learned the move was clumsy and awkward compared to her delicate yet powerful interpretation. Now I’m seriously wrapping one leg around Gary’s and then flicking the other through his feet. Wow. We can’t wait to learn more!

It’s a fun respite to all the jumps and dips we’ve been learning. Swango has reminded us that dance progression is not all about leaps.

Some WC swingers think Swango is dumb. Some tango folks say its sacrilege. But I think Swango is a lovely amalgamation of two dances.