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.