Thursday night we heard the Grasshopper band play some very cool music at Luna. It was quite a night; Tebone busted a guitar string and JJ cracked her voice and a paper fell in front of the bass guitar's amp and popped and crackled but as always it was a great show. JJ looked like the moon goddess seated on her stool, dark eyes and high cheekbones and effortles voice in the pale blue lighting. I could look at her and our eyes met and she asked me later if I knew what she was thinking and I said yes.
After work on Friday I got drunk and don't recall much at all but I know about midnight S decided to play his violin, some wild-sounding old songs.
Saturday morning I woke up and drove to the dance studio feeling shaky and with the sunlight too bright hurting my eyes regretting that third bottle we had opened. I unlocked the door & turned off the alarm, made my way up the stairs. The stark dance floor glared at me in the light from the windows and I thought Oh my aching head, but I turned on the music and moved around, stretched, relaxed, and by the time the ladies arrived, ready to move. We did a lot of things strangely familiar and altogether foreign, stretching, working our shoulders and hips and arms and legs. They were panting and concentrating, learning the way the body can move, remembering how to be flexible, finding muscles they didn't know existed. It was a fun two hours and I forgot completely about my hangover.
After class I got my hair cut. I hate getting my hair cut, and do it once every six months. I think it's about the same as the dentist, and the beauticians always say "Oh what beautiful hair," and then later joke, "So you're sure you wanted this all cut off?" Ha ha ha, yeah and you wanted the back of my hand, bitch. S got gold stars because he noticed I had... done... ?something different, and when I told him I had it trimmed by four inches he expressed appropriate appreciation and disbelief that it could still be so long. All the better to grab, he said. Oh yes.
Sunday morning we visited JJ & Tebone, who cooked an amazing breakfast and went with us on a hike along the river and to the top of the butte. We watched the clouds swirling around the hills on the other side of town and down below in the river bottom. The river is high and looks like blued steel, hard and cold and smooth. The woods we walked through smelled fresh and clean, sweet and crisp. We were all pink-cheeked and our breath came in plumes in the damp cool air. At the top of the hill we sat in the brief sunlight and talked about annoying songs that get stuck in our heads and B sang "Saturday in the Park" so I cursed at him and he laughed. S sang his "Ring of Fire" to trump all. The walk home was warm and easy despite the mist.
In the afternoon I met five other ladies at Miss Lola's house because she has a dance studio in her garage, and we took turns leading the group. We're putting together a dance troupe, no leader but democratic and drawing straws. It was thrilling to see all the ladies I've known for three years now working together, not in a class, but as a group. The level of communication we've reached already is amazing, and we are all very supportive of eachother. I love having them all to bounce around ideas, answer questions, puzzle through problems. We get stuff done, too. It wasn't all fun and games, but at the same time that's exactly what it is. As always after time spent dancing, I drove home feeling slightly hypnotized.
On Monday, to celebrate Martin Luther King's birthday, S & I walked in the park with the dogs. We ended up gleaning the wood from a cedar tree branch that had fallen during the snow and ice storm two weeks ago. He chopped it up for kindling and brought some inside to make the whole house smells like cedar. We talked about civil rights and liberties and police records with B, whose legs were aching. He said the methadone stays in the bones, and even though it's been a year they still hurt. He's starting to look healthy, he's gotten over his bronchitis and has gained weight, but he's still painfully thin and I suppose he'll always have that hollow and darker look about him, along with the long scars that travel the length of his arms. He spends a lot of time on the couch, reading and petting the big orange grub S calls his cat, who is only too happy to have company.
It was a busy weekend, a weekend of fun and consideration, time for laughter and wine and breathing cold winter air. I don't recall all the details but they fit within the hours and minutes of the day like sand between stones on the beach, grains neither important nor unimportant but missed when the waves churn or the wind blows them away.
After work on Friday I got drunk and don't recall much at all but I know about midnight S decided to play his violin, some wild-sounding old songs.
Saturday morning I woke up and drove to the dance studio feeling shaky and with the sunlight too bright hurting my eyes regretting that third bottle we had opened. I unlocked the door & turned off the alarm, made my way up the stairs. The stark dance floor glared at me in the light from the windows and I thought Oh my aching head, but I turned on the music and moved around, stretched, relaxed, and by the time the ladies arrived, ready to move. We did a lot of things strangely familiar and altogether foreign, stretching, working our shoulders and hips and arms and legs. They were panting and concentrating, learning the way the body can move, remembering how to be flexible, finding muscles they didn't know existed. It was a fun two hours and I forgot completely about my hangover.
After class I got my hair cut. I hate getting my hair cut, and do it once every six months. I think it's about the same as the dentist, and the beauticians always say "Oh what beautiful hair," and then later joke, "So you're sure you wanted this all cut off?" Ha ha ha, yeah and you wanted the back of my hand, bitch. S got gold stars because he noticed I had... done... ?something different, and when I told him I had it trimmed by four inches he expressed appropriate appreciation and disbelief that it could still be so long. All the better to grab, he said. Oh yes.
Sunday morning we visited JJ & Tebone, who cooked an amazing breakfast and went with us on a hike along the river and to the top of the butte. We watched the clouds swirling around the hills on the other side of town and down below in the river bottom. The river is high and looks like blued steel, hard and cold and smooth. The woods we walked through smelled fresh and clean, sweet and crisp. We were all pink-cheeked and our breath came in plumes in the damp cool air. At the top of the hill we sat in the brief sunlight and talked about annoying songs that get stuck in our heads and B sang "Saturday in the Park" so I cursed at him and he laughed. S sang his "Ring of Fire" to trump all. The walk home was warm and easy despite the mist.
In the afternoon I met five other ladies at Miss Lola's house because she has a dance studio in her garage, and we took turns leading the group. We're putting together a dance troupe, no leader but democratic and drawing straws. It was thrilling to see all the ladies I've known for three years now working together, not in a class, but as a group. The level of communication we've reached already is amazing, and we are all very supportive of eachother. I love having them all to bounce around ideas, answer questions, puzzle through problems. We get stuff done, too. It wasn't all fun and games, but at the same time that's exactly what it is. As always after time spent dancing, I drove home feeling slightly hypnotized.
On Monday, to celebrate Martin Luther King's birthday, S & I walked in the park with the dogs. We ended up gleaning the wood from a cedar tree branch that had fallen during the snow and ice storm two weeks ago. He chopped it up for kindling and brought some inside to make the whole house smells like cedar. We talked about civil rights and liberties and police records with B, whose legs were aching. He said the methadone stays in the bones, and even though it's been a year they still hurt. He's starting to look healthy, he's gotten over his bronchitis and has gained weight, but he's still painfully thin and I suppose he'll always have that hollow and darker look about him, along with the long scars that travel the length of his arms. He spends a lot of time on the couch, reading and petting the big orange grub S calls his cat, who is only too happy to have company.
It was a busy weekend, a weekend of fun and consideration, time for laughter and wine and breathing cold winter air. I don't recall all the details but they fit within the hours and minutes of the day like sand between stones on the beach, grains neither important nor unimportant but missed when the waves churn or the wind blows them away.
<< Home