We all fall down, get bumped, bump into, step on, bounce of off, bruise, tumble and sometimes concuss and hope for the best or maybe reaching for what is the very best. Of ourselves.
My shoes are shot. That's not why I fell last night but I thought I'd mention it anyway. They ought to be shot by now; they're canvas and I dance hard. I get stepped on. I step back. I exercise some level of caution and or restraint when my partner or neighbor is barefoot. Sometimes.
I got to go back North again last night. I was just getting comfortable in January when that stopped (not the comfort) for a bit and I missed it. I'd gotten past my fear of being able to keep up or screwing up too terribly and when I was in Hartford and then Branford and the dances were smaller and the dancers quieter I was missing the black diamond for the blue slope and often the green depending on the dancers in the room or what I was up to. And certainly the music and size of the dance.
However, my family is still my family and that's where I want to be for the most part. But that black diamond slope...
So when you ski you are a passenger or a skier; this applies to your life. CG applies it directly to riding and she's a magnificent creature on a horse and more so, the horse has the space to become something spectacular in her presence. I only know this from stills and some video. But still.
Enough metaphor. I'm typing with my thumbs. Can't get the wifi to connect at the moment but that's why we have apps :-)
It was the end of the night and he gave me good solid spin and the spun off himself in the opposite direction. (I had to go back and ask him later what the hell happened. He was mortified) I fell so hard my skirt may very well have come up to my head. I looked up and he was stunned and motionless. We all were but you have NO time to get the hell out of the way because the line is moving. He hauled me up and I don't think he thought I was going to keep going. I think he thought all four of us were going to have to step out.
I went right back to my partner into a swing with a big ass grin on my face and we finished the dance and I ran back to him to make sure he knew it was ok.
I had to find him again later and it wasn't until I asked him if he skied and then asked him if he fell down - because he MUST ski with the same wild abandon joy with which he dances - and I asked if he could really be any good without falling and the light went on and then I said the important thing was to get the hell out of the way to avoid a pile up. And we did this.
He said, not everybody would take it that well. I said, my fault, I own where my body goes. I didn't have to roll away with that much force. I could have put the brakes on. And then I said thank you again. I hope he's brave enough to try that with me again, I know I am. I know I'm driving to Stamford for new shoes in the middle of the week too. The soles are shot and they're dangerous. Like bad bindings. Or a worn girth.
My dress was saturated when we left.
On the subject of contact sports. The Book Goddess who dances all her life came to Hartford and said, after a few dances, go dance pretty. It's not about dancing pretty. Not ballet. Not so much but it gets there through the back door I think. Dance joyfully within the collective consciousness.