this could be the last time

or not.

Last time I went to Europe I wore one pair of orthotic shoes, a brace and a crutch. This time, alas, I am packing shoes. No, not alas – it’s great but they do weigh a bit more than no shoes at all.

I’m off to Valencia, land of orange groves, if old school songs are anything to go by. To a digital storytelling conference.

I’m meeting up with an old friend with whom I’ve weathered many a storm and with whom I’ve had many a wonderful trip: Patmos, Naples, Auckland West Coast Beaches, Hatepe, London, Brighton and possibly a few others.

Here he is at Pompeii.

I’m also collecting the last of a sister set: Sharon, Judy, Rosie and finally Margaret.

And I hope to dance some tango, thanks to my wonderful, fabulous, chiropractor David, who after about 10 attempts finally worked on the neck so that it came unstuck. Finally, after 3 weeks I feel sane again.

Phew.

And then I visit some new friends in Buenos Aires. And, just maybe, dance some more.

stepping up, if not out

The top shoes are part of the list I had when I started on the journey to improve the foot. Not these exactly, but the idea. They are perfect wear for women with shonkey feet. Note the support over the shonkeyist part of the foot and the secure heel part. They are from Overland shoes and I love them, even if I still totter a bit.

It’s two years since I threw away the crutch and the fabulous items (lower pictures) that I wore for two years. I wore these in Italy, Amsterdam and England as well as Rarotonga. It was a relief to rid myself of them, but then I would not have been without them either.

Last month I threw them out and bought the new, higher, and well, just a bit sexier, version.

beat it

Angels. Used via cc attribution licence from Hermione Presents. http://www.hermione-presents.com

You and I travel to the beat of a different drum….

So sang Linda Ronstad in the 1970s.

And so, perhaps, might my tango teacher.

It’s caused me to reflect on how people listen to music.

So, I’ve loaded up my car and home stereos with wall to wall tango. And I notice how much happier I am when something with lyrics comes along, although I am fond of tango waltzes.

When there are no words I feel myself drift away to several other things, but words, even Spanish or Greek, make me alert. In tango of course words like corazon, suenos, recuerdo, solidad enable guesswork and the songs tend to be about my heart recalling the dreams of yesteryear and the memories of lost love.

It’s why, I realise, I prefer opera to instrumental music and can usually catch a word or two about passion, living for love or art and so on.

So, I’m back trying to listen to the music. But with a singer I am imagining the dance to the voice not the beat underneath.

It’s not that I don’t hear the rhythm, and thought (clearly erroneously) that I was getting much better at hearing it and at waiting (even attempting a small adorno) for my partner to pick up the beat and move me along (or backwards usually).

So – leave aside the melody and listen to the beat. OK I will.

endings, beginnings and dilemmas

Recent events have inspired me to purchase Jerry can, to carry warm clothes and water in my car and to stock up on sardines. I’ve yet to buy the survival blanket and the wind up torch but I’m getting there. Of course I know that, like most humans, I’ll let it all lapse so that when the big one strikes (I live on a fault line) I’ll be shocked and unprepared. I only hope that when it does I am at home, where I reckon the deck and the carport will go but the house will be ok. Perhaps I’d better get climbing ropes too.

I was curious about the use of social networking in all this. After the Christchurch earthquake the niece who was staying with me was texting her mates a lot. It seemed as if they hyped themselves up a tad. After the Japan earthquake and tsunami I was able to hop onto facebook and within an hour or so, identify that friends and family or friends were all ok. I even began talking to someone I had lost contact with in Japan. I was surprised to realise how many New Zealanders know people in Japan.

So, for Christchurch it’s the end of that heritage link but a chance to build anew. Interesting discussions about how it will all go, look and be.

For me. personally, (what else there is for me?) March often brings new beginnings (it’s my birth month). Something that had been going on far too long (13 years) ended. Phew. All I can say about March this year is that it was full on. The opera on my birthday, however, was lovely (Xerxes) with my favourite (for now) aria Ombra ma fou. The personal trainer left for Perth and the niece left the house (giving me a moment or two of empty nest syndrome).

And now I’m packing for Argentina, to which country I go at Easter. What to take? What to wear? if I take a bigger case will that help? Will I be able to buy the boots and shoes of my dreams? Will I be able to dance every night and keep the hip stable? Will anyone notice that my right foot is clunky? My hairdresser (bless her) thinks I’ll meet some handsome gaucho and stay there. I’m more worried about being able to execute the perfect gancho.

you learn some, you forget some

Well it’s over. My first ever tango festival.

What did I learn? I learned most importantly that I adore nuevo tango and that even with sore hip and shonky foot and an understanding partner I can cut up the floor like nobody’s business.

What else did I learn? I learned about connection and finding the heart of tango. I listened to music. I learned about navigating the floor. I learned that New Zealanders are a little stiff about music and dance. I remembered that the Wellington community of dancers is very nice and that having good mates to dance with is fabulous and a gift of generosity. I learned that I can live in a house with dishes piled up, clothes all over the floor and mess everywhere.

I learned that connection and good friends are the most important thing in life.

I learned that good shoes are important.

I learned that dance is the best way to move, be alive and be yourself.

See? I learned a lot.

What do I think? I think that one day I might be able to dance in these expensive shoes.

the first have arrived

This week could turn out to be an update on the tango festival – my first you understand.

The first of the Argentinians appeared last night. And no, I don’t know her name yet. But my god, she put us all to shame. Slinky, sexy and accomplished. Even the best of us looked stilted beside her. It’s similar to watching papaa’i trying to do the ura.

Sigh.

Will my feet and hips last the distance however?

PS: She is not Argentinian she is American and may or may not be called Vio. Still an amazing dancer!!!

joys of being a cripple

There are several things that have been great about being a cripple – one being the support and love of friends. Another being the great car I now own with the six stacking CD system, while another has been the love of life that one feels when parts of life are difficult.

But while all that is good having one of these is even better.

Being able to find a car park, especially when you have been into the city enough to know where the disabled car parks are, is a real bonus and joy. Thanks Crippled Children’s Society. Very good.

we take some odd turns

Having espoused the feminist cause in the 1980s, it’s with some surprise that I find myself mentally rocketed back to school dances as I learn the tango. Now I adore dancing the tango for all sorts of reasons, mostly that being able to dance with a slightly damaged foot is a thrill and I adore most of the music…….. but. But. There’s a culture about waiting for the guys to ask us to dance and I suspect that my foot is a distractor. Last night I leaned heavily (euphemistically of course) on someone I knew who was clearly reluctant to dance with me…maybe it’s because I am taller than him and uncompliant. Or maybe it’s the foot. Or maybe it’s because of something else.

It does not mean I don’t get dances and have at last begun asking fellows I know to dance. But it does bring back two memories; School dances when I was taller than all the guys and Mum after Dad died, crying in the hallway after she had been out to her first dance without him.

It’s also the interesting (in the ‘I used to be a feminist vein’) to be on dating websites ……….and perhaps that’s enough of that for now.

And yes, of course there’s a duality/binary opposite: It’s also great to be swept up in the arms of a fantastic dancer and swirled knowingly around the room, it’s great to watch others and to watch women leading men (so it’s not all sexist) and it’s great to get dressed up and wear high heels. Maybe I need to go along to queer tango. Maybe I’d better learn to lead. I have no objection, just the skill required to steer. And dating sites? Yes, of course it’s wonderful to feel admired and to flirt and certainly, to meet some interesting characters.

But sometimes it is weird and it feels as if the (mumble) school teenager years are really not that far away.

Sigh. Gain or loss? Gain.

it’s a cripple thing

being able to wear shoes that you can dance in……

more dancing cripples

OK it’s not elegant and sexy but it is dancing!