All things must come to an end.

 

 Oh, to be dancing.

 

“This vegetarian lifestyle really sucks,” Dina sighed, tugging at the weeds surrounding peas, tomatoes, and beans.

Dewy leaves now were dried in mid-day sun. Dina stretched and arched her back, standing to look around fields. People and friends just like her hard at work on summer harvest.  What life had been when all of this began…

Oh the times Dina relished when she had whirled around nightly fires, sparks rising up into a black sky.  Fairies had danced upon her fingertips and elves had woven rainbows through her hair. Dina had laughed, swirling and loving all in a colorful world.

Now hippy life and love appeared less and less meaningful after three years. The world now was black and white, the fires less, and fairies gone.  Dropping the clumps of weeds to the ground, Dina strode along the damp earth thinking...

All things must come to an end.

 

 

 

This a Wednesday Word post written in 2014. The underlined words were tossed out for writers to broaden their stories. This challenge was created by a fellow blogger Delores about 1o years or so. She passed the baton onto other bloggers.

 

 

 Go to -driftingthroughlife.blogspot.com/

 who continues to challenge people like me.  Each Wednesday she tosses out a list of 6 or 12 words to tease writers like me.  Check it out. 

November to December

   This a re-post of 2010.  I liked it, and juggled some words about to post it again in 2017. Now, here in 2019, I post it again.

Why is this post going up in early November, you may ask.  Christmas 2016 my husband's family went on a cruise because Mom Kane had died in February and none of us wanted to be home, without her.

It wasn't Christmas for any of us, we acknowledged it then and now.  Now, each year since 2016 we gather in one home or another and talk about times with Mom and Dad, and the joy they brought to Christmas.

This year, 2019 my husband and I will dance up a storm around the tree with our teenage granddaughters, laughing about all the other dances of the past. WE will stop our dancing after a few minutes while they carry away the night.

YouTube: Flash Mob, 2010

Merry Christmas!

 

Wings on their dance shoes

      

Irish weddings are big events in a  young couple's life together. 

Not many blog readers have participated in such a wedding as witnesses, family, and share in the reception. Well, after the wedding ceremony, people head to food and drink, cut the cake, and then dance. Then they dance. Oh my do they dance!!

 At this bride's reception, some gifted dancers stir up the pot, set the kettle on to boil: Members of the Riverdance are on the dance floor.

The Riverdance performances are breath taking.  When Flatley comes on stage like a shooting star, it is impressive. See below.

   1988 was the beginning of Irish Dance Popularity Jean Buter and Michael Flatley(the choreographer and creator of RiverDance). 

          

He is not a humble man.

Enjoy St. Paddy's Day!  Avoid the garishness of canals died green in Chicago.

  Eat corned beef (not really an Irish thing), boiled potatoes, onions, and cabbage. Irish brown bread is essential. Top it all of with a "trifle", which is really a British and Irish dessert.

Guinness is up to you.

Hoist a pint, or maybe two

Pionta a chrochadh.

When your feet start tapping

I like to think that I have an eclectic taste in music, that I am broad-minded.  Hey, I was in college during the 1960s and 70s, man.  But that is so not true, there is more genre than I knew back then. 

My music education pretty much ended in the early 1980s.  Some how I cannot get beyond Zanadu Xanadu with Olivia Newton John.  Was it the trauma or Boy George? Or both? But then other music styles saved me?

I don’t know, but the last 15 years or more are scarcely dotted with memorable music, except for Whitney Houston and anything Irish music related (of course).

In recent years, I was exposed to something called “Zydeco”.  And I haven’t been the same. 

Can’t help it, my feet want to dance.  I feel the beat and the words—and this is from a person who struggles to clap and sing at the same time.  Maybe I was born down in Louisiana, stolen by pirates and brought up-river to where my folks were buying catfish from a guy down on the levee off the ‘Ssippi. 

What IS it?  It is like gumbo, with every nation tossing a bit of its culture into the pot, adding lots of spice.  And I like it. 

A community gets together, eat some gumbo, dance like crazy.  Just listen, see what you think.

Re-post from October 2013. Arlee Jackson and Alex Kavanaugh helped create the "A to Z April blog a thon" My offering for Z is Zydeco.  

Ireland is actually the top of the dancing kingdom. Sorry, guys. Ireland wins.

 Zydeco. 

 

 

All is at Peace

Everything lavender

The sun filtered through the garden, breaking through the dense foliage.  The twining squash vines sported hearty zucchini, which  would soon muscle its way through other vegetables.

Garden making

Butterflies were dancing over the blooming lavender and dahlias.  Over in the corner, isolated from the serene garden, were two gooseberry bushes.  Brooding and sour, they knew it was only a matter of time before they would be picked and treasured.

But, for now, all is at peace.

The italicized words come from Wednesday Words from Delores some time ago. These  were supplied 5 + years ago, when Delores had started W. Words as a way to encourage writers to expand genres. The goal was to integrate these words with their own style.

Current words can be found on Wednesday at Elephant's Child blog site.

This is a challenge I savor. Brevity, saying much with chosen words (about 65 words above), is powerful in its conciseness. Writing, with those few meaningful words that convey an image, well, that is just plain fun.

What Once Was Lost....

Looking for the silver coin

No one, no one at all, ever talked about what was involved when a girl or boy starts Irish dance lessons.  Those dancers look amazing as they skim along a wooden dance floor, as they kick high to the sky, and as they leap without effort. Some costumes/dresses are impossibly ugly, the colors are day glow colors.  

But no one tells about the money all that costs.  Dresses straight from Irish designers can cost up to $3000. Children have a habit of outgrowing these dresses.

On Facebook

$1000 worth of Swarovski crystals
on an already expensive dress

Oh, the hard shoes. How can any pair of shoes cost so very much? Apparently, those hard shoes can cost a lot.  

In 2017, new shoes cost about $350. Used ones are slightly less. But what happens when one shoe is lost?  Disaster.

After a huge Irish Feis (fesh) dance competition held in a hotel near Disneyland, my daughter discovered that Clara, my gr-daughter had only one shoe.  They searched all over the hotel with staff help, to no success.

This is how a competition looks

As irony would have it, a few days later John and I attended a math conference in the next hotel over. Time was on my hands, so I went to the hotel and asked about the lost shoe.

Obviously, Lost and Found was the place to go. No luck. But then the hotel maid recalled one shoe and turned it in the next day after the Feis. 

That correct lost and found box contained the shoe. Huzzahs all around!

The lone lost shoe

What was lost was found. Was the search worth it? One shoe, was it important enough to find?  

No one warns us about the cost. But everything costs money, what matters is where it is spent. A new sofa and love seat or a life time of dance memories and skills? Just where do you invest your time, money, self?


The dresses are crazy out-of-line, no matter what. 

Back When We Were Invincible

Lumbar region

As I stretch out on my recliner with ice packs on my lower right back, I recall the day I damaged my right lumbar vertebra.  It was January 12, 1987, when a rare ice storm had blanketed our town, leaving everything damp and slippery. 

Walking down stone steps carrying items for breakfast, my right foot slipped up and my right buttock slammed down.  It hit the steps hard, along with other parts as I rolled on down.

The resulting bruise was the size of a legal-sized envelope and as black as black could be.  Can't describe the pain, which lasted for a long time.  And now, thirty-one years later, I recline with ice pack on L-3 and a bottle of Ibuprofen on the counter. Didn't go to the doctor because the roads were impassable for three days. And doctors in Ireland were one to a town. A nurse friend looked at it, frowned and said to head to hospital if I felt a moving pain up, a clot.

Not black as black like mine

But this post is not about me.  It about all who live in this retirement community who also manage to experience their own ice packs and pain.

Lewis Pearce, an eighty-eight year old gentleman and friend, has had three knee surgeries. Walking with a cane, Lewis lights up when he relays what he enjoyed so much when he was eighteen. "I went skating every night and man, could I skate!" He could circle the rink, leaning over at the curve and sliding his hand along the floor. "I was as slick as that polished floor! And it was worth these crippled knees!"

Other residents talk about swing dancing at the USO every night.  One woman had a huge garden every year and drove a tractor to plow up the soil.  Another man rode a Harley, even after he skid out. Others did... They loved those experiences which enriched their lives and gave them memories about which to smile.

The worst was my mother, who worked alongside my father on the farm.  She did the work of a man.  In the last years of her life, I swear every bone in her body throbbed from over use and arthritis.  But this put food on her table for her family. She was invincible back then.

We all were young, thinking we were almost invincible.  And maybe we were in our own perspective.  And, it was worth it. 

Except for the fall where my fall has taken me out after many years, letting me know that I was young once, but even right after that, I was invincible in my own way.

Anyone out there who once knew invincibility?

Dance Forever

Language of music

As you may or may not know, Irish Dance is a huge part of our lives; our goal is to be involved, part of our grand-daughters' lives.  Lily and Clara have been taking lessons for years, participating in wild Irish dance competitions, known as a Fe'is (fesh).

When our girls were only five, they wore the school uniform for beginning dancers, a white blouse and blue kilt. Most of the time white blouses were partially tucked in and kilt sagged down beneath child tummies.

So proud, they were so proud and so eager.  Little girls were lined up, feet almost in the right position.  Clara picked her nose a few times and Lily sent a smile that lit up our world. There was always a red head giggling and pinching girls next to her.

Now, years later--maybe six years later--each stands with feet "turned out", posture straight and hands tucked it.  White blouse and blue kilt have evolved through an official school uniform ($350) for novice dancers, with hard shoes (same price).

Then their costumes became elegant, enough for a princess.  Some uniforms became hideous in day-glow colors.  But OUR girls has a mother who can sew up a storm.

Lily still glows with her smile, now with braces.  Clara no longer picks her nose while in line, and believe me, we watch for that.

It is an amazing experience to be surrounded by talented dancers and Irish music. Other little girls evolved as well, into Champion dancers. Those young ladies fly through the air, truly fly.  Long legs make impossibly high kicks, while long hair follows music and dance.

What happens after High School, after most dancers leave to pursue careers somewhere, doing something? Will they still dance?  Will they teach other little children in blue and white?

Without us all knowing, these talented dancers now teach school or are doctors.  But, Irish dance is never packed away in a closet, forgotten.

From YouTube entitled "UPS Driver gets jiggy after receiving a gift.

Where did he study dance?  When did he study dance? He remembers the steps and such!

Here is another example.  In Ireland at a wedding reception, clearing the floor for dancing takes on new meaning.  

Groom and his guests (all ages) dance.  Obviously there's a ringer.

Other young adults join a dance team, and appear at Dublin Airport.

A flash mob in Dublin Airport from a dance troupe, "Take the Floor."

Feet never forget, legs perform the impossible, and a doctor becomes a dancer once again. We hope this for Lily and Clara.

Some Mondays...

It has been "unseasonably warm" here in San Diego.  Having made a promise to myself to not complain, moan, groan, or otherwise bitch about the weather, I am moving to something that makes me smile and laugh.

For a Monday, this is a sweet start of the week.

Slainte'

Shopping for the Dress

As we last left "Father Daughter Dance", Lisa and Mommy were locked in a battle of the dresses….

I was there, witnessing the whole thing.  Being Grandma, I had this same battle with the Mommy years ago, and knew how this would all go down.  Whoever holds the credit card wins the battle.  But it won’t be easy.

From this site!

As Lisa sobbed about the discarded hooker dresses, I picked one up and examined it.  The seams were already splitting, the threads were ragged, and one washing would rip this sad excuse for a dress apart. 

In the end, Mommy and Lisa took home a beautiful yellow eyelet dress tied with a spring green ribbon and a daisy, perfect for a Father-Daughter Dance.

Not the actual dress, but close enough

What bothered me about the whole dress saga was how girls are being bombarded with the image of sexy dresses as the acceptable fashion wear for under-teens. 

This development stage of giggling little girls is being ripped away from my grandchild.  Who she is and what she will be--all is being undermined by current societal standards.

She is being told that her value is in how she measures up to other females.  Her value is how she fits in with today’s market.  

Her value increases when she displays her 'goods', before there are any goods to display.

Females everywhere:  You are more precious than any jewel or gem.  
Who you are cannot be decided by the time you are 18 and eager to take on the world.  
Hold yourself tightly;\! 
Understand your personal value comes from within, not from the world. 
God created you and has a plan for your life.  
You are precious.

Dancing with your daddy in your pretty yellow dress is more important than one can ever know. 

Y-Z Posts: Yodeling and Zydeco, part 2

Source: duchessa

I like to think that I have an eclectic taste in music, that I am broad-minded.  Hey, I was in college during the 1960s and 70s, man.  But that is so not true. 

My music education pretty much ended in the early 1980s.  Somehow I cannot get beyond Zanadu Xanadu with Olivia Newton John.  Was it the trauma or was it Boy George?

I don’t know, but the last 15 years or more are scarcely dotted with memorable music, except for Whitney Houston and anything Irish music related (of course).

In recent years, I was exposed to something called “Zydeco”.  And I haven’t been the same. 

Can’t help it, my feet want to dance.  I feel the beat and the words—and this is from a person who struggles to clap and sing at the same time.  Maybe I was born down in Louisiana, stolen by pirates and brought up-river to where my folks were buying catfish from a guy down on the levee off the ‘Ssippi. 

What IS it?  It is like gumbo, with every nation tossing a bit of its culture into the pot, adding lots of spice.  And I like it.

Just listen, see what you think.

And that concludes this year's A to Z 2013 Challenge, on a high-note with Yodeling and a dance with Zydeco!  Now, take it away......  

A Masquerade

A masquerade…quick!  What image comes to mind??

Depending on your age, there are many options. 

For me, it is “The Masque of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe.  It was made into a movie long ago, and didn’t end well for 99% of the actors.  Only one innocent girl escaped the horror at the conclusion. 

source

source

For my daughter, it is “Labyrinth” with David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly.  A peculiar movie I thought at the time, I wouldn’t let my daughter watch it “until she was older”.  She watched it anyway, and now my granddaughters (ages 6 and 7 ½ years) have watched it a dozen times.  What a difference 25 years makes, I guess.

And now, those same granddaughters have attended their first “masquerade birthday party”.  So much went into planning.  The dresses had to be special.  Glitzy jewelry was a must.  Make-up?  You betcha. 

Bright Eyes and Sunshine going to the masquerade party

Personally, I think these little girls have the right idea for a masquerade ball.  Lots of giggling, running around, and playing at being adults is better than my images of the black death plague taking out the sinners dancing in a castle.