Dance class last night was a mental workout rather than a physical workout. When it comes to step combinations I am no Ginger Rogers; just let me spin or shimmy and I'll be happy. In class we're working on a step combo that bends my brain. It's a symmetrical series of motions-- hip lift step with the right, then the left, turn 360 to the left, use right foot to cross over left foot, left steps out & to the back from right, right comes together with left and then make a big hip circle swinging to the left.

Repeat, starting with the left, then the right...
Speed it up so it's in a steady fast rhythm.
That 360 turn takes only two beats of the music.
Fast fast fast. With dramatic pauses.
During which I'm trying to figure out how the hell I'm facing backwards...

I was pleased to note I'm one of the few dancers in class who actually has the entire choreography memorized. I have to because I'm in front-- no pressure or anything. Twice last night our instructor stopped instructing and let us perform the song from memory; without her lead it was difficult, but we managed to finish it. I'm across from my friend R, who is good to watch, and who has different problem areas than I, so we tend to watch eachother in the mirrors, helps us both.

My instructor told me to come to class tonight, too, which is a class much more focused on technique and less on step combos with dramatic flair. She's one of the best teachers I've ever had, in any subject, and I think she realized I didn't have the best of time in class last night. It didn't help that I had eaten Russian dumplings only two hours prior to class. While they had a nice meaty doughy quality I appreciate, they didn't enhance my quick footwork. Boom ba da boom.

Spent the evening with S talking about squash and gourds and cooking and baking and hearty soups and Halloween.
What are you gonna be?
Something political. How bout you?
Dunno, but I wanna wear that slinky black skirt. A black mermaid, or Morticia, or? Maybe I'll just wear all black & paint my face white. Maybe I'll get a black wig.
It's three days from now.
Yeah we don't have candy or pumpkins yet. I want a pumpkin.
You don't want candy?
I want a pumpkin. I'm gonna make pumpkin soup with it this year.
You want pumpkin soup but you don't want candy? I want candy.
You are Mister Sweet-tooth.
I want chocolate.
Right now?
Or something sweet.
How about me?
Okay.

Yeah.

We went to bed early for us, 10-ish, old married couple, nudge nudge wink wink. I am glad we climbed into bed when we did, because at three in the morning when I let the dogs out to go pee, boy dog barks and races around to the driveway, and there is a big man-shape backlit by the neighbor's porchlight. Me, I'm in long johns and a little silky top, hardly dressed for any kind of encounter with a stranger. But boy dog is wiggly and waggy, so I ask in a low calm voice, "Who is there?"

It was D; he had been sleeping in our car since midnight. I made him a cup of tea, & S sat up & chatted with him.

D is going to Jamaica.

He has the wanderlust bug biting him, biting him hard, and he's already seen most of the United States. He wants to see Jamaica.
S lived in Jamaica when he was a boy; he started school there when he was three. I love the pictures of him in his little khaki uniform with boots and strapped books. He talked about the garden, and the fruit that grows wild, and about the beaches and the poverty and about the differences and similarities.

I went back to bed.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the dance choreography and the steps I missed.
I couldn't stop thinking about the people I know who are leaving, like my friend R who says she's leaving in January, and now D, who may be gone tomorrow, and they will both be missed.


Snow down to 2500 feet tonight. Birds fly away in the winter.