Endless Dance

Cold wind slithers by, pokes between coat and clothing, sends shivers through her body. Half numb fingers fumble with keys, she leans against the door until she finds the right one. Gaining entry she shakes , dog like, tossing the memory of cold from her. It is dim inside, only the security lights, and the intermittent moments of sunlight through spring clouds giving any visibility. She tosses her coat and purse on the front desk. It is an hour or two before any students will come. She leaves the lights low, turns up the heater just a few notches. A few quick twists and her long drape of hair is captured in a bun. A momentary pause at the cd shelf, long fingers draw out a single slender volume. A slow, earthy melody fills the room. She leans down, exchanges street shoes for ballet slippers, tosses aside sweat shirt. Even with the heater up, cold air greets unwary legs, and she quickly pulls legwarmers up a little higher. Long arms reach skyward, draws her body up in an infinite line from floor to ceiling. She arches back, a graceful C, stretches muscles , warming them. She stands posed a moment, alone in a half dark studio, blanketed in a brief silence. A new song begins, full of rythm and strumming guitars. Toe, ankle , knee, a swift shift of weight, and she is dancing. Her foot falls are feather light. Fingers, wrist and elbow, flow gracefully from 1st through 5th positions. She spins till she is breathless, and then leaps. She flies across the room, back arched , arms parallel with extended legs. The music ends as her foot touches, toe, ball ,heel , to the floor. She stands a moment, then folds from her hips, chest touching knees, fingers brushing the floor. Amoment more and she stands again. She removes the cd from the player, puts it back among the others on the shelf. She dons her sweatshirt and street shoes. She turns the lights on and runs a broom across the gleaming wooden floors. In the bathroom she checks her features, wrinkled with years of laughter. Touches up lipstick, and lets down her silvered tresses. Satisfied she goes into the front room, hangs her coat, greets the young teacher as she walks in the door. Quietly she begins working books at the front desk, and smiles as the first student walks in.

daffodil adventure

This tree looked totally scary fairytale like. lots of branchy fingers to tickle with.

Music was piped out onto the walkway with these rock speakers. heehe rock music.


there was a tame herd of deer just hanging out munching on daffodil sprouts.

Check out the size of this tree stump!! The person standing near it is about 5'4'' tall.

So this was our trip to Daffodil Daze. It's a spring festival held in the sleepy town of Shady Cove. I'd never been to Shady Cove, and was a little hesitant about getting lost, but it turned out to be pretty fun. We got there about 1pm. We had planned on taking the trolly they have that goes to all the cool stops on the daffodil hill trail, but there was an hour and a half wait, and there just wasn't that much cool stuff to do at the trolly hub. The festival volunteers offered a map and advised us that we were welcome to drive the path ourselves. So we did!! I have to say the drive up the hill was not terribly impressive. It had snowed the week before this and so the daffodils hadn't fully bloomed. There are supposed to be about a million planted all over this hill. It was still kinda cool, there were a lot of flowers out and about. About halfway up the hill there was a turn off and we accidentally turned onto that , read the map wrong. Down that turn was this little herd of deer. They were not in the least phased by our car. We made it up the rest of the way and at the top they're building this little walking path with streams and ponds and waterfalls. it's all totally fake looking, but in a good way. It's really peaceful, except for the canned music coming from the fake rocks. We all ended up with some old 80's love ballad stuck in our heads. There was this awesome piece of tree(see above pic). It was really gigantic. I can't imagine how big it was when it was still a tree. Must have been amazing. On our way to the little art show we missed our turn and ended up in the parking lot of a little bakery that just happened to be open. The delicious baking smells lured us inside, and everyone had to have some pastry or another before we could leave. It was really good. I had half a cherry cheesecake danish. Amazing. Yum. The art show, like much of the day, was kinda dorky, but also had some absolutely spiffy points. most of the artwork was same old same old, But there was one lady that did graphite sketches and they looked just like black and white photos. it was cool . I ended up taking home a rock shaped/painted like a frog. cute.
Anyway, that was our trip to Daffodil Daze in sunny Shady Cove. :)

right or left?

Would my life have been different if I had been born left-handed instead of right? Would I have interpreted the world with the opposite side of my brain, and come up with different answers than I had before? What if some simple click of a switch in DNA had gone the other way. Would History be changed. Perhaps I would have been less able to cope with stressful times. Perhaps I would have been more ambitious. I have some small ability to write with my left hand created painstakingly through practice and perseverance, and fostered by boredom. Does this leave me somewhere inbetween? I am, at times, an indecisive person. Is this perhaps because my mind is muddled between right handedness and left? Probably nothing would be different. Except for that time I sprained my left wrist. Then I would have struggled through, writing in 5 year old script with my right hand. Maybe I would have been more artistic. I write well, but visualizations are hard for me. They say the right side of the brain is better at that sort of thing. I guess it doesn't really matter, but it is fun to ponder.

peanuts

I went to a restraunt with some friends the other day. It was a steak house. Upon entering i heard crunching, like large bugs being squished. I looked down. Beneath my feet was a layer of peanut shells. Apparently one of the traditions at this restraunt was to offer its patrons little buckets of peanuts to munch on while waiting for their food, once eaten it is encourage that the shells be thrown on the floor. Now, I am not a very neat person. Dishes wait patiently for days at a time on my kitchen counter to be cleaned. My coffee table is usually buried in a paper strata of junk mail and bills. My kitchen floor, however, gets swept the moment there are crunchies on it. I can't stand crunchy bits under my feet. Irrational I suppose, but there it is. Anyway, so I'm at this restraunt and every step I take is another crunch crunch crunch. I can feel the shells resisting and then giving way under the soles of my shoes. They send icky little vibrations up my spine. Once seated I like the restraunt, it has a great ambiance, very westerny. The waiter for my table is very friendly and strikes up a conversation while i wait for the rest of my party. As long as I can keep my feet up on one of the table's supports, the peanut shells are OK. I am given my very own bucket of peanuts. ....Huzzah..... (i don't actually like peanuts). The rest of my party is still about 10 minutes away, so for lack of anything better to do , I begin shelling peanuts . after a few minutes I have created two little mounds, one of peanuts and one of shells. My mound of shells is very neatly stacked, almost pyramid like really. At about the point it reaches 2 inches high the waiter comes back, looks at my little stack, and says " Now we can't have that" and takes my little stack of peanut shells and very cheerfully tosses them on the floor. I am aghast. He looks at me very happily. As though the sharing of the tradition was a great treat and haven't I found some quirk of the restraunt that is absolutely amazing. I smile politely and wait till he is gone to sigh. My party shows up and we chat, eat and pay the bill. I have managed to forget about the peanut corpses. As I step from the booth though I am subjected to the shivery crackle of the husks and it is decided. Good as the restraunt was, I don't believe I'll be back.