The Gallery

Finally went to the gallery to dance last night. Friendship counts far more than politics in the end, and because Wendy asked, I went. Only a few people are part of both groups, so the split is very much a split. It hurts as I have friends in each "camp" and feel so torn each time I'm forced to choose who my "friends" are.

Lilliana came in, greated everyone in that wonderful "sweet" voice of hers, went down the line of women. "Merry Christmas. It is so good to see you. How are you. So glad you could make it out tonight." Yadda, yadda, yadda. Then she gets to me.

"Oh, hi" and stalks off. Later, she tried to make nice, but really, it was a bit late for that! Guess it is obvious who isn't on the "friend" list.

A Girl's Guide to Living Alone

Have you seen the overwhelming amount of books out there that should be subtitled "How to Catch a Man"? I don't think anyone realizes that men don't want to be caught. Unless they have been taught by their mothers that they need a woman to iron their socks and starch their underpants.

1. Get rid of the self help books. No one needs titles that tell you we come from different planets. Why not just say men are dogs and women are cats and be done with it. I did see one: "Why Men Like Bitches". Hey men like ...bunnies (rhymes with truck).

2. Develop skills with your hands. You will need to be able to fix broken plumbing, nail boards etc. Buy a tool kit and learn how to use it.

3. Hobbies. Wow, I can't believe how many women don't do anything once they meet a man. Now if that isn't a reason to stay alone, I don't know what is. I'm not giving up my life for anyone. Guys don't give up poker night with their buddies. I cherish my freedom. After a clingy husband and four kids I wouldn't give up my interests for anyone, no matter how special.

4. Defend your space. Complain if he leaves socks on your floor, doesn't pick up his underpants (starched or not), invades your kitchen and thinks he knows what he's doing. Unless he wants to cook for you. Whatever you do, DON'T clean up after him. But make sure he cleans up his mess. Men are grown ups too.

5. Talk about your own interests. Guys like to talk about themselves. Too bad. Talk about yourself. You are interesting too.

We as women need to live our lives. Although I was married for a long time, my life never revolved around my husband (much to his intense disappointment). Our culture still teaches women to fetch and carry for the men in their lives. DON'T do it. We are fascinating, exciting, vivacious people. Isn't it time we actually lived like we are? Live with a man, live without a man, just don't ever live for a man.

Music

Music is such an integral part of how we dance. In Buenos Aires, the music was an expression of passion, release, longing and hope. Slow and intense, it is the best music to dance to. This music allows a woman to express her individuality, sensuality and passion. One of my greatest pleasures was time for interpretation. Dancing slow enough to taste the music. It came in through the pores and permeated my being.

Here at home, I don't dance well. The faster I go, the less I feel. I dance disconnected, too much concentration, not enough feeling. For me, tango is about feeling, not about speed. Why do we pass one another like we are driving race cars? Hey, that makes me the race car! Forget embellishments, forget footwork, just hang on tight and try not to fall over. Good thing my shoes are so sexy.

Enough Said

I am such a bitch to him. And I hate myself because of it. I swing between wanting things to go back to they way they had been and anger. But there is no had been. The truth is that it was only my perception we were friends anyway. I could talk to him, but why? We aren't ever going to be friends. Hard to do that when he thinks I violate his boundaries. It shouldn't even bother me. He doesn't want me to have anything to do with him, so I don't talk to him. Should be fine. But then I have to act like a bitch, and I hate it.

It's All About the Shoes

Here they all are in all their beauty. The last pair will come out to dance tomorrow night.

The Last

This morning when I went outside to get firewood, a package was sitting on my porch. I just love brown paper packages tied up with string. Okay, no string, but brown paper. These are the last pair. Wow, beautiful. And with cold feet and cold shoes, they were a cosy fit. Ooh, delightful.

Saving the Best for Last

(Or Something Like That)

The final pair of shoes came out to play last night. These are very spikealicious, which is why they were left until the end. It isn't so much that I think they are the best, more that I was afraid I'd kill myself dancing in them. Fall off those heels and it would leave a mark. "Medic, medic!" The higher the heel, the more the dynamic of dancing changes too. I'm trying to put into practice things I learned in Buenos Aires and I can't stand on my own two feet. Yep, learned lots can't you tell?

They were the pair I just had to buy though. In my quest for green shoes, these were the most amazing shoes I'd seen. Not only are they green, they are pink as well. I could sit and stare at them all night.

"Sorry, I can't dance. Can't you see I'm busy!"

Good thing there were only 12 people there last night. Gave me plenty of time to stare. And fewer people to hurt.

Baking

Candied cherries. They are not so easy to find. People who live in my neighbourhood must not eat. I've pondered this before. I don't own a car at least not one that runs, so need to walk, bus or taxi to buy groceries. The nearest grocery store from work is a 15 minute walk (then at least 1/2 hour wait for a bus and another 10 minutes home). But candied cherries were almost $9 for 8 oz. I need three times that for the cookies and for Christmas cake. Yikes!

The next closest grocery store is new and on the way home. No bus from there to home either, so can't buy too much. But no candied cherries at all!

Day three of the search. I got off early from work today, so decided to hike to yet another grocery store. This one took almost 45 minutes to walk there. But they had candied cherries. In the bulk section, the cost worked out to less money for twice as much. So I got bought plenty. Stocked up on butter, eggs, tart shells. Hey, I'm starting to get excited about this Christmas thing again!

Home again, pulled out the Purity cookbook. This is a reprint of one I've had since I was 19. Flipped to the cake page--so excited! But wait 2lbs raisins!? And currents? Wow, don't remember needing that much. So I scanned the recipe some more. 12 eggs? 5 CUPS brown sugar? Okay, not the same, wow three 10" cakes. Hum, anybody want Christmas cake? That is enough to feed all those homeless people downtown.

"Do you have some spare change?"

"No, but I have some spare Christmas cake. Bring your friends."

So I called my daughter. The one who stole my original Purity cookbook. After all, I don't need that much Christmas cake. Just enough for a few friends.

Maybe I'll make that cherry biscotti today instead.

Christmas

Christmas is definitely on its way. It is such a zoo out there. The sense of urgency and panic is unbelievable. What ever happened to the wonder and delight? Did we loose it to yet another Martha Stewart moment of perfectionism? I remember paper decorations on the tree, home made cookies, family and the delight and excitement. Now, I have a hard time getting into the "spirit" of the season. Or maybe it is just the commercialism.

It is time to recapture that joy and delight I felt as a kid. Enough of this Scrooge cynicism. Digging through my basement (ech, that's a chore!) will find a box of wonders and delights. A home made Santa and ornaments for the tree. I refuse to spend money a lot of money on Christmas. Instead, I'll bake some Christmas cake and some cookies, decorate in a small, imperfect way. And invite my friends and family over.

Saturday

Bertram Levy gave a lecture on the history of tango. His background seems to reflect an interest in jazz music, so he tied the roots of tango to the roots of jazz. Afterwards, we danced to live music. Bertram played bandoneon and Robert Mari was brilliant on piano as always. They were accompanied by a violinist and double bass player as well.

Here we had a wonderful opportunity to heal some of the rifts within our dance community, but there was a woeful lack of communication among the groups. This dissension hurts my heart so much.

Withdrawl

I'm suffering from tango withdrawl. One night of dancing in a whole week does not make me a happy camper. Last week I was at Nino Bien in a crowd, tonight I sit at home longing for a dance.

More On Shoes

My new shoes are presently residing on the kitchen table. Supposedly this is bad karma or something. Guess that means I need a shoe rack. That is a really good idea when you consider how many shoes I own. Used to be I had one pair of dress shoes and one pair of runners. What happened?

Rummaging around, I found an out of use CD rack. Not quite big enough to hold two pairs side by side, but it will do for now. A few pairs are already on, but the rest still reside on the table for some reason. Maybe I want to dance in them first before hanging them up. I've been trying to figure out which order to wear my shoes. Do I save the best for last? And how do I determine which one is best. The first pair worn were one of the lowest priced shoes I purchased, but also one of the nicest. Okay, they are all nice!

Maybe when all have been seen, you can let me know which you like the best!

Home

Snow? SNOW?!? Blech.

Seattle

Well, here I sit in a hotel in Seattle. Holidays are over, even though I don't actually get home until tomorrow. The temperature came as a shock! 2 degrees compared to a humid 40.

I missed my connecting flight in Dallas. There was no way to have caught it. The flight from Buenos Aires was delayed because the flight ahead of us couldn't leave the gate for some reason. They boarded our plane very quickly, but we were still late. Flying into Dallas, the pilot said we were on time, but the flight to Seattle had left 45 minutes before our flight even arrived, so there was no way with customs and a second baggage check to even think of getting on the flight. They had automatically reassigned a seat for me on the next flight though.

Customs in Argentina did a thorough baggage check of every one's carry on luggage before boarding the plane. I was sure they would root through mine, and it was packed so tightly with shoes and things that it would have been a pain, but the young girl who opened my bag took one look at the shoes, asked for my small bag of liquids, grinned and zipped up the bag herself. Maybe she has a shoe fetish too.

Miss Buenos Aires already, but feel like I'll always have a piece of it inside my, like the warm heart of a chocolate truffle.

PS, shoes are very heavy! If you bring that many shoes back, make sure your bag has wheels!

Almost Home (Sort of)

Almost time to go home. Except somehow this city feels more like home. It tingles along my skin like electricity (but maybe it is just the building rain storm). Eduardo today said I dance like an Argentian, that I never lose connection.

Later, I met kikki for a last coffee before I leave this time. We talked about the pulse of the city, how every movement from pedestrians to taxi drivers is part of a dance. We talked about heart and connection. I've been looking for that connection for such a long time, and here I've found it. So we discussed what I would do to earn a living, preparations for leaving Victoria, places to live, and how to keep connections with our children. All like it was already decided. And maybe it is.

Too Much Stuff

Yesterday I went to the practica at Ideal with Eduardo. From there kikki, Eduardo and two couples from Winnipeg and myself went across the street to have a quick bite to eat and a visit before heading off to Viejo Correo for another lesson and then the milonga.

This morning, I'm sitting here surrounded by shoes, clothes and CDs wondering how to fit them into my luggage. Like a jigsaw, I'm sure it will all fit, but I'm also trying to make sure that neither suitcase is over the weight limit. That could be too much to ask when you consider how many shoes and CDs have to be packed. And there are the other Christmas gifts for the kids and some very unique original artwork. Even got another bag in the hopes of making the impossible happen. Is there a twelve step program for shopaholics? Maybe I'll sign up... after I get another pair of shoes.

Reverse Countdown

The countdown now starts the other way. Only four more days here (including today). I will miss this city so much when I go home. It gets in your blood somehow. I still have things that I'd like to do--shoes for my daughter, a bag to pack all my Christmas presents in (okay and shoes), lessons and of course there are milongas to still attend. It will be so hard to leave, but now I'm thinking next time I am here I will do... And wondering how I can arrange to stay here longer.

The Chest

Connection. Tango is all about connection. I've been taking private lessons with Jaun Ruggieri. He is a young fellow that teaches with Roberto Herrera. Unfortunately his style so far seems to be salon only. Or maybe it is just that is where my weakness lies, so it's what we are working on. Unfortunately it made me think I couldn't dance. At the milongas, I became so nervous that it became reality. What a bummer, a 5,000 mile trip just to sit and watch.

So I borrowed a cliche (if at first you don't succeed, blah, blah, blah) and went shopping instead. Markets, malls, small stores. And of course shoes. If I bought the shoes I have to dance, but I was letting it simmer on a back burner so to speak. Here in Buenos Aires, you don't have to go to just a milonga, so I've enjoyed a few live shows as well. Narcotango, Color Tango, a show at Cafe Tortoni and one at a place called Pigmallion.

At Club Grisel on Monday, I was sitting yet again. Although I was dancing consistently each evening, I've been spoiled and three or maybe four tandas in a full night of dancing no longer seems like much. So I decided I just didn't care. Three tandas in a night would have to do, I couldn't get the look, and watching would have to work as well. And then the dancing started! Great dancing. Muey Bien is understandable even to my small vocabulary of Spanish.

Eduardo returned on Tuesday, and on Thursday I had my first private lesson with him. I'd really only had a few milongas where there was any consistant dancing, but he said to me "You've been daning with the Argentinians. I can feel it in your chest." Waht a wonderful thing to hear. And it has only gotten better. Now all I'm hearing is muey bien and muey linda.

Hum, Sunday tomorrow. Wonder which milonga is the best.

Dates

Monday, apparently I agreed to a date with a taxi driver. Gee, is that what he was going on and on about? I was out at a milonga and he came to the door all spiffed up to get me. Must have figured the universal language would work no matter what.

My excursion to San Telmo market actually proved to be a date. Being dense, I didn't realize it until Bob started to hold my hand. I don't think it was just friendlyness either. I can think of one or two men that it would have been quite yummy to hold hands with, instead it was just awkward. Ooh, and he came to my door this morning asking what we could do together today. Eep.

Lomo

Good thing I'm a carnivor, not a vegetarian. It would be very difficult to survive in a city like this if all you ate was rabbit food. Salads and vegetables aren't served with meals. They are strictly meat and potatoes. Lomo is the best beef ever eaten. From thin slices served in bread to thick steaks, all are mouth watering tender and served to absolute perfection--just past the point where it still moos. All for an average of 14 pesos.

In La Boca, street dancers entertain you while you eat. Walking down the street, each cafe had its own dancers or musicians to entertain you--or lure you in. As an added benefit, you might even get to dance. Cool shoes she's wearing eh?

Live music

Everywhere you go is live music. On Saturday evening I was fortunate enough to see Narcotango play live.

Oops

So yesterday was an interesting day. Spent an afternoon at the San Telmo market (I seem to have a thing for these street markets). This was a flea market, all outdoors. 30 degrees (probably in the shade), so very warm and wonderful. At a little stall, I found a great necklace--garnet and silver for 120 pesos. Again, that works out to about $40, so I had to get it.

Later that evening, four of us went to the open air milonga in the same sqaure. It "starts" at dusk. When we arrived at about 7pm, they were rolling out the floor. Literally. Over the cobblestones, the organizers layed out a mat of some kind of rubbery substance for us to dance on. People were standing, sitting and walking by everywhere.

In the bustle a women came up to me and asked me where I was from. It turned out to be Gina. I hadn't even recognized her. She isn't dancing any more and came to this milonga for the first time in over six months, so it was a huge coincidence to even bump into her like that. Later as I was dancing, I looked up, and there on the steps was Allyson. Strange to see two people you know from home in the same evening at the same place.

As we were walking home, a young fellow accosted us asking for cigarettes. The man we were with told him we didn't have any. He started turned to me and asked the same thing. When I tried to walk away, he ripped my necklace off (the one purchased earlier at the market) and ran away. Was a bit frightening, but it could have been so much worse.

Ricoleta market

An experience in sensual overload. Artisans sell custom made everything from leather goods and silver to clothes. Think every street market you have ever seen rolled into one. The weather was warm and sunny, the perfect day for a market.

Milongas

So far, the dancing has been interesting. Working my way up the pecking order, I've started with the old, old (old) men. Some are very good dancers. Some are not so great. One fellow shakes so hard it is hard to determine whether he is leading or just quivering. Then there is a fellow that dances a semi-open embrace that seemed to be hard to dance with. Other apparently great dancers seemed to have problems as well. From there up the ladder, is a fellow who has fairly solid technique, but no variations on a theme. Once I figured out how he led, it was the same each dance.

Georgio tells me up, up, grabs me just above the panty line to emphasize his point, then says bring those beautiful breasts up where the world can see them. Just about enough to make me sink, sink.

Of course, you go to another milonga and have to start all over again.

Shoes

Of course shoes. Went shopping yesterday. Ooh, so now that I can get money from a machine, must buy shoes. So many shoe stores and so little time. Comme il faut was even better than expected. The number in advertisments and on a government web site was not exactly where they seemed to be located. Tucked in a small alley, it is very hard to find, but worth asking directions.

Once allowed inside, the girl figured out our foot size, whether we wanted high or low heals and how sexy we were looking for. Can't imagine what would have happened if I'd said both please, as she went in the back and started to pull out boxes. And boxes. And boxes. The shoes were lined up in a row. Sexy classic (would have purchases but they weren't leather), sexy outrageous and--well, you'll see when I get home!

From there, we hopped in a taxi and found our way to the Abasto Shopping Plaza. Huge centre that we didn't even explore. The two of us were on a mission for shoes. In the Abasto hotel is a tango boutique--Madreselva. There shoes are all the same still in various colours.

Artensanal is right around the corner, where Liz found shoes much to here liking. Tango clothes in the shops aren't any less expensive than at home, so I haven't been looking much at the clothes. From the boutiques and small shops is where you have to look for great bargins. We stopped in a small store next door to Tango 8 where the young woman spoke only Spanish, but is custom making me a skirt in soft knit and leather accents for only 75 pesos.

Across the street is yet another shoe store. Liz was looking for a certain colour of shoes, so in we went. Along one wall was their sale section. Everything from 110 pesos down to 80 pesos. 110 pesos works out to under $40! Can you believe it!

Everywhere you look are signs of how wealthy this city once was. It sad, haunting and somehow hopeful. The porteneo's never give you the feeling of tragedy. There is industry everywhere, little vendors, corner parilla's where you can eat for only a few pesos. Around every corner is something new. There is a great market in Ricoleta (a barrio) and here in San Telmo where crafts people set up and sell great wares. And of course, the tango.

Banking Dilemas

Although the dollar is worth more than the peso, it almost appears that they don't last as long. It is impossible to use a bank card at a merchant, and restaurants aren't much better. A few that I've seen do take credit cards, but at milongas pesos are used for entrance, plus there is the cost of drinks. So by Monday, I knew I wouldn't have enough to go for another day.

Okay, it is actually because I bought two pairs of shoes and had a private lesson to pay for, but who's counting? After the second pair of shoes, I found a bank machine around the corner, but was informed that my transaction was prohibited. Monday was also a bank holiday, so many of the banks had no cash in their machines anyway.

This morning, the two american women and myself headed to Tango Brujo. I had purchased one pair of shoes the day before, and was told they might be able to custom make a pair of shoes from a picture that I have. Pat was trying to get a skirt made to match a pair of shoes she'd purchased.

Liz and I were both down to our few remaining pesos and were desperate to get the banking figured out. Next door to Tango Brujo is a bank machine, but again, it was out of money. I had heard about Cirrus or Link as an option, so was searching for the correct bank, but once again, we couldn't seem to find a machine with money. Most of today was spent looking for a machine that would give us money. I had sucess, but poor Liz couldn't get anything and had to finally call her bank to straighten things out.

It was good to be flush again, as I had another private this evening, dinner with Kikki, and a milonga later. Busy days. Hum, aren't I supposed to be on holidays?

Day Two

Sunday is market day in Buenos Aires. In San Telmo, there is a market around near the guest house, but there is another market in the trendy district of Palermo. Pat, a guest from Mexico had heard about the trendy market selling clothes, jewellery, belts and so much more, so four of us hopped in a cab to explore.

It would seem that market day is the weather's cue to be uncooperative though. It rained on and off all morning, and the heaven's opened just for us as we got there. Not that it made much difference. We explored only a few shops between us. Alone, would have accomplished more, but it is so much fun to watch others try on clothes.

In the late afternoon, we headed off to Salon Canning. Another large milonga, almost filled to bursting by the time we arrived. Our table was at the corner, and not near enough to the dance floor to be able to make great eye connection with any one. The crowd did not seem to be the same, but with so many people, it would be hard to tell.

With crowed dance floors, the line of dance is crucial. Never once did I step on anyone or get stepped on. I've danced with only a few couples and suffered more injury than I think would ever happen here. No one would think to cut in line or rush or hurry to get to an open space. Instead, they do that coming and going as they drive from one place to another. Driving is an experience in risk. Our taxi driver coming home would rush up to lights that were red and only slow down at the last possible second, squirting through the intersection before the light even turned green.

Once again, dinner was after the milonga and tonight there was no visiting around the table at the end of the evening. A nice quiet end to a very busy day.

The real day one

After a ten and a half hour flight from Dallas, I've arrived in Buenos Aires. No one at the airport spoke English, but they all seemed to know how to communicate. Wasn't difficult getting through customs or finding a taxi. Met a few of the guests already, most of whom have headed off to lessons or shoe shopping.

After an afternoon siesta, a group of us headed out to Nino Bien for dancing. Taxi's abound in the streets, but you have to be careful to only take a taxi that says "radio taxi" on the doors. The other ones will take your money, and give you back counterfeit pesos. One of the couples staying at Lina's found this out the hard way.

Although we went together, the men and women must sit apart once they arrive. If you sit with a fellow, married or not, none of the fellows will ask you to dance. They make the assumption you are taken and it is an unbreakable rule.

Nino Bien is large. Men indicate they want to dance by looking at you, but the glance is very subtle and it might not be you they are looking at. I noticed that the Argentine's have it done to an art form. A look, a nod, and they walk to the dance floor and meet. The woman can initiate it by looking intensely at a fellow (and hope he gets the hint). First time out, I got it wrong and walked up to the dance floor to discover it wasn't me! Second time out it was very obvious. That makes it so much easier. It seems that perfecting the look probably has as much to do with the frequency of your dances as ability. The two dances I had were wonderful.

After Nino Bien, went to eat downstairs in a little bistro. Wonderful chicken meal for about 11 pesos. That works out to about $3. I can see that eating will be an experience when I understand so little Spanish. I know enough to order beef or chicken and pasta is pasta in any language it seems.

Came back exhausted. We had the option of going to to another milonga, but chose instead to open a bottle of wine, and discuss dance. What a way to end an evening.

Day One

Arrived safe and sound in Seattle. The weather in both Victoria and Seattle is rainy, and miserable. Makes the thought of spring so nice! It is like the eve of Christmas eve. One day closer to Buenos Aires, but not quite there yet!

Spanish

Although the language of tango may transcend the need to know spanish, there may be a few key phrases I need to know to survive. Not having a spanish/english dictionary I found a web site instead. Shouldn't be a problem carting a lap top around with me everywhere just so I can communicate should it? Better get a dictionary. Should fit better in my shoe bag.

Como te llamas?—how come when you ask someone their name you ask about their pets?

como estás—how are you. Knew that one already.

¿Dónde está él baño?—where is the bathroom. Hum good to know in any language.

¿Dónde está? where is—insert appropriate word, like zapato.

¿Cuánto cuesta?—how much does it cost. Apparently I'm a shopaholic, so I need to know this. Will go well with the previous question about the zapatos.

¡Qué buena fiesta!—what a great party, insert milonga and we should be fine. Armed with all my beautiful zapatos, I'll need to go dancing.

Que hora es?—what time is it? Just in case the previous isn't true.

No te olvidare (olvidar)—I will not forget you. What you say to the guys to guarantee they will dance with you the next time they see you.

And of course abrazos and besos.

10 Days and Counting

Into the final countdown to flight (could be in more ways than one). 10 days. Or four days of dancing here in Victoria. Or one more night of pilates. Or one ballet. I have to sacrifice my last class of yoga for Wen Wei dance, but that is a sacrifice that will be will worth it.

A friend has given me a number of tango magazines from her trip to Buenos Aires, so I've been looking at milongas, lessons and of course shoes. The shoes are proving to be the easiest to locate. Go figure. I have an idea what I'm hoping to achieve with lessons, but am not sure how to find it. As a follower, my challenge is getting to dance how I want without telling the lead what to do, so (if possible) I'd like to learn techniques for leading from the follow position--changing the dance so it is slower allowing me more time for embellishment. In a dance of great passion and sensuality it seems like we as couples and as a room often dance like we are on speed. So I want to change that, at least for myself.

Armed with tiny ads in spanish (which I can't comprehend) I purused web sites in spanish. At least they have beautiful pictures. Then, buried in one magazine, I saw an ad for El Gato. Wow, he's real, not just some guy from Marina Palmer's book. I did a google search, and came up with a tango festival happening in Buenos Aires while I'm there. www.pulpostangoweek.com.ar/html/

This could be worth checking out. They recommend where to dance as well. I'm hoping for an authentic experience, and this might be too touristy, but I will have to check it out, even if just to look. Do you think he dances without his shirt on?

Product (Red)

This is a web site worth check out. http://www.joinred.com/. Purchase of products from companies like GAP and Apple will buy anti-retroviral medicine for people dying of aids in Africa. Like they say, we all have a choice. Let's make a diffence with our choice.

Men

It is interesting how many women seem to think I need a man to be complete in my life. Don't get me wrong, I love men, the smell of them the feel of them; they delight all my senses. I just don't need one to make me complete in my life.

This week, I emailed a client at work regarding an upcoming ballet production and he was kind enough to offer me tickets. The first friend I told asked me if he was cute (thinking it was an offer of a date). The second girlfriend told me a week gave me plenty of time to drop hints to all the men I know and get a date. Am I missing something (other than the man)!

I never did understand that simpering airheaded behaviour of girls (or women for that matter) that prance around men, flick their hair and bat their eyelashes. I know it works, but I'd rather climb trees, catch fish and live my life on my terms. To live to any other way feels lesser some how.

Funny thing is, the fellow has set aside two tickets for me. Must be he assumes there will be a guy as well. Guess one of my well meaning girlfriends will have to stand in. Not that I swing that way. I'd much rather put my arm around a man, rest my head against his, breathe in his scent. I'm never quite sure what do to with all the extra equipment a woman has, if you know what I mean.

Serenity

Or Searching for Peace

Tonight at yoga, laying there after a great workout, I think I realized what I lost during the long dark tea time of my soul. My sense of peace. The ability to just chill, find great pleasure and relaxation in the little things in my life. Meditation has always been something that comes naturally to me, so I'm not sure why circumstances managed to get control of me so badly. It's not like the things I went through are the worst in my life.

Okay, maybe that isn't true. I almost lost two kids in one year, lost my grandfather and a marriage, a job and my entire support network (i.e., I moved to a new city). It is easy to forget how important our friends are when things are tough in our lives. And when they are tough, making friends is harder for me as the last thing I want to do is spill my guts to a virtual stranger.

I found myself thinking in strange ways, lost my focus and my sense of self as a result. Note to self, never lose your sense of self. Hum tricky that. You don't usually realize it's gone until you get it back.



So here I stand in my warrior pose (that's not me by the way) considering how to live my life from here. With serenity. And definitely without fear.

101 Moments Worth Living

I ran across an ad in a magazine the other day with 101 moments worth living. Things like climb to base camp of Everest, catch a fish with bare hands and kiss a complete stranger.

So I thought I'd create a list of 101 things I want to do or accomplish in my life. Some might even be the same. Of course, some of the things on their list I've crossed off already, like buying a standard without knowing how to drive one.

1. See all the Cirque du Soleil shows. Talk about visual art. Breathtaking, awe inspiring. Makes a person laugh, cry and dream. Who wouldn't want to see them all. Plus, at least one is in South America so maybe I can see it on one of my trips to Buenos Aires.

2. Sit on a beach in Rio. Hum, maybe I'll do that during a trip to see Saltimbanco.

4. Climb to base camp of Everest. Okay, this was on their list too, but hey I always wanted to try it.

5. See a Broadway show. Forever Tango would be the top of the list. Would even have to do more travelling to get there.

6. Cruise around Cape Horn.

7. Visit the pyramids (and or cruise the Nile). The tourist thing wouldn't work though. If you've ever read Death on the Nile by Agatha Christie or Whispers in The Sand by Barbara Erskine, you know what I mean. The whole ethereal 1800's thing.

8. Play with my granddaughter. If your going to make a list of 101 Great Things To Do, you have to remember to hug babies, pet dogs and make cats purr.

9. Okay, it isn't really fair, because the number one thing on my list I'm heading off to do in only 14 days. A trip to Argentina to dance tango, take lessons and of course, buy shoes. It just doesn't get any better than that. Until the next thing on the list.

Of course, I'll have to add to the list. But this will keep me busy for a while.

Belonging

I love to watch a dance floor move. Like a coreographed piece of artwork without the rehersal. The images of tango evoke a sense of belonging. We form bonds, often with people we don't know; dance as couples with complete strangers.


We search for a place of belonging, of acceptance. And in the embrace, we find it.
Place your head just here at his neck, hold his hand just so, relax the knees and go.

A friend thinks in my trip to Buenos Aires, that I will find it difficult watching the dancing and not participating. But I love to watch. I learn by watching, and the patterns are like visual art.



I look forward to forming new bonds, both the visual ones when I watch dancing I can't even begin to imagine. And the bonds of placing my head just so, holding a hand just so, feeling the pressure on my back just so.

And go.

Passion of tango

Here you can post your inner thoughts and musings and complete strangers know what is going on in your head. Things that I would't necessarily share with my closest friends. The question then becomes how much to say. Do I tell people I like erotic fiction? What I think of our dance community? I could just write like a diary--dear blog, today I bought Purel so I don't dysentery while I'm in Argentina.

Hum, I'll tackle world travel alone, but the thought of any one knowing the workings of my head frightens me. Guess there is something I'm afraid of after all.