January 2001 – December 2001
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
January
Starting Anew
1 January 2001
It’s occurring to me that my nifty Diary Index would look a lot niftier if I actually updated this thing on a regular basis. Maybe that’s good fodder for my New Year’s Resolutions–practice more and update more.
As always, December did me in. Each year I find myself gearing up during November–practicing my dances, working on my writing, this year piping as well–trying to build enough momentum to carry me through the hectic holiday season. But without fail the early days of the new year find me in a state of total lethargy, having done nothing productive for weeks, making the same resolutions. And each year I resolve to do better the next year.
I suppose it could be worse. At least my heart is in the right place, perhaps that will encourage my mind and body to follow.
Our last class was the 11th of December and we don’t go back until January 8th. That’s nearly a full month of slacking off. I’ve got to wonder haw my muscles are going to take being hauled out of hibernation. I know they didn’t like the shoveling I did yesterday. If only I had practiced more.
Next year, I promise.
Getting Back in Shape
6 January 2001
I finally got my notes out and ran through a couple of my more troublesome steps in the hallway. All in all I’m pleased with what I seem to have retained of my knowledge and dexterity. If I want to avoid looked too much like a slacker, however, there will need to be a few more sessions before class next Monday.
Much of my day-to-day practice continues to take place at my office, believe it or not. That is due to the fact that I arrive at an ungodly hour when I have the place–and the expansive floor space–to myself. Since I recently changed jobs, this may change. Though I am still allowed to arrive at the same time, my new office is much larger and apparently employs similar lunatics who arrive, if it can be believed, even earlier than I do.
It is a large office, however, so even with a few other people present, there is hope they will be far enough away from me where I can run down a few steps in my cubicle without drawing any incredulous stares.
That is my hope, at any rate, as it would surely be a shame to lose that quality dance time.
And How Foolish Do I Feel Now?
9 January 2001
Vacation is over; classes have begun.
I think I did very well, all things considered. I remembered most of the steps and still had enough stamina to get through them all. The stretching exercises weren’t any more fun than I remember but overall, the class went well.
The debut of my ‘new’ shoes didn’t go quite as well. I had sent my hard shoes back to the vendor to be re-soled with wider heels. The theory being I should be able to ‘click’ easier with them. Well, I can’t. I’m having no better luck with them this way than I did before. All I did was spend a lot of money for no reason.
The only silver lining in this particular cloud is the fact that we aren’t doing a lot of clicks this year. Instead, our dances seem to have a lot of ‘spins’ in them, which I am much better at (though I do get dizzy easily).
We also learned a Treble Jig at class; a rather complex one, too. It was great to see how we were all able to learn it in one session. I think this is proof that, as a whole, our class is getting better.
My Life Just Keeps Getting Stranger
21 January 2001
Somewhere it occurred to me (after enduring another stretching exercise) that I need to limber up some. So, I enrolled in a Yoga class.
I think the benefits are obvious and manifold: I get to stretch out my ancient and tired muscles, learn breathing exercises (for my bagpipe addiction) and spend an hour a week relaxing.
Still, lying on a mat on the floor, in my bare feet, in a room full of assorted earth-muffin’s is not the sort of thing I ever pictured myself doing.
The jury is still out on this. I did learn some interesting stretching techniques and it was relaxing but there was a lot of new-age mumbo-jumbo thrown in there as well. Not that I have anything against that sort of thing, but spiritualism was not on my agenda. I’ve already been thrown out of two churches* so I’m not really keen on tempting a third.
At the very least, I can take away a few pointers, even if I don’t stick with the class.
And then I look around and realize I am so far and away removed from that simple moment two years ago when I responded to an ad in the local “Continuing Education” flier for “Beginning Irish Dance.”
What happened? How did I get here? What does it all mean?
Hmm, maybe I should stick with the Yoga.
* Presbyterian and Fundamentalist, for those of you keeping score at home
Riverdance – The Review
26 January 2001
I finally saw Riverdance.
Over these past two years, I have asked many fellow dancers what got them interested in Irish Dance. The most common answer by far begins, “I saw Riverdance . . .” Well, I never had, not at all. So, I finally rented the video and sat here in my office watching it on my little TV/VCR while doing web updates the other night.
My reaction: Yeah, I could do that.
This isn’t to say I’m that good, because I’m not. Nor am I implying I would look as sexy in leather pants and a big, puffy white shirt, because I wouldn’t. And I could never, ever hope to perform, nor am I referring to, the gymnastics undertaken by the star performers which was passed off as ‘Irish Dance.’ No, I’m talking about the dance steps done in the chorus line–to me, that was the most breath-taking portion of the show.
Although these dance steps were flawless, blazingly fast and exquisitely executed they were, underneath it all, steps I am familiar with and have danced myself. And the chorus line looked especially stunning due to the fact that there was a whole lot of them performing in perfect unison; I think even our adult class, when we get a step right and perform it in unison, looks pretty snappy.
Again, this is not to diminish the superb job these dancers did or intimate I could actually match them. I guess what I’m saying is, if I had seen this video three years ago, I would be one of those people answering the “How did you get into this” query with the overworked refrain, “Well, I saw Riverdance . . .” So, I’m glad I waited.
Mental Block
29 January 2001
Just got back from dance class. How dismal was that?
We were working on our Treble Jig and I was doing, well, sort of okay, but then I got the last half of a Hornpipe stuck in my mind and couldn’t do anything to get it out. After embarrassing myself half a dozen time, I just gave up and waited until I got home so I could check my note. I’m just going to have to start bringing my flash cards to class.
Yes, I still use the flash cards. They really are a help, but what I have been noticing lately is, there are too many of them for me to even run through them all one time before I’m ready to quit. I guess I’d better start concentrating one the more ‘active’ ones, though that, in itself, is something of a guessing game.
Despite my mental block, I’m pleased with how I’m doing. For the most, my feet do what I want them to.
On the brighter side, I turned 46 (some time ago, so save your birthday wishes). What’s good about that is, for the next eleven months, whenever I dance at a Feis, I’ll still be 45. I’m sure for some of the younger set, having to drag your January first age around with you for the entire year can be something of a downer, but to someone my age, it’s a real bonus.
February
And I Had Such Good Intentions
9 February 2001
I was all set to write lots of entries this month (just once I’d like to see how my clever little index might look if I actually updated regularly) but then I got a notion to write a computer program* just because I wanted to see if I could do it. That killed a whole week. For no particular reason. (For the record, I’ve always considered programming to be little more than a manageable mental illness. If I had been born prior to computers, I’d probably be wearing a white gown and looking at the world through wire mesh.)
But I’m better now and a lot has happened while I was in programming mode.
First, a group of us from the adult class were chosen to go to the Eastern Regional Championships this November. We’re going to do a four hand. I had never thought I’d ever even get to see an Oireachtas much less perform in one. I also get to go to extra practice sessions, which ought to be fun. And the weekend in Philly is bound to be a hoot.
Then, just yesterday, I found out the web page I did for my school was chosen as a featured website on CapitalCeltic.com. That’s very cool. Sorta validates my efforts, and gives a little publicity boost to the school.
* It’s a quiz program where you type in your own questions and answers, then test yourself. I wrote it at the request of a woman who was studying a foreign language and wanted to be able to test herself. It’s really little more than electronic flash cards. If anyone wants it, e-mail me; I’ll send it to you.
Practicing Hard Shoe with your Reel shoes on
12 February 2001
We learned a new Treble Jig in class today. A very cool one with lots of complicated looking moves.
So far so good, but we went into the Treble lesson right after a Reel lesson without changing shoes and on one of the toe downs I really put my toe down. Hard.
I don’t think it’s broken, but boy does it smart. Good thing we’ve got vacation next week. That gives me a few extra days to recuperate.
This past weekend, I went ice skating down at the Empire Plaza. While I was skating around and around at a nice safe pace, not at all concerned with falling (I got my first pair of skates along with my first pair of shoes) I saw another guy, nearly my age, out in the center of the rink, doing spins and jumps and lots and lots of falling down. It occurred to me then that, even though I wasn’t falling and he was, he was a much better skater than I am.
And a universal truth was reaffirmed: if you’re not falling down, you’re not getting any better.
I wonder if jamming my toe counts as a ‘learning’ experience, or just poor judgment.
I’m Getting Better – Thanks For Asking
16 February 2001
After limping around for two days my foot started feeling better. Not looking better, mind you, but feeling better.
Right now it’s some lovely shades of purple and blue and only hurts when I try the Toe-Down steps. I guess this is a good time to practice my Reels, as long as I do them flat-footed and don’t try to stand on my toes.
We don’t have class on Monday so I don’t have to worry about that. By next week, I should be in top shape, though probably a little off my form from lack of practice.
Not a Good Week for Practice
22 February 2001
Believe it or not, my toe still hurts. It’s not a constant pain but whenever I try to dance it begins to throb.
But I don’t feel much like dancing right now anyway. I moved over this past weekend and my muscles are so sore I don’t even want to stand up. And in addition to that, I managed to run myself down so badly I caught a cold.
If I were a horse, they’d shoot me.
Eventually, I expect my toe will stop hurting, my muscles will forgive me for the strain I put them through and my cold will go away. Then, thanks to my new living arrangement, I will have plenty of time to practice.
March
And the Hits Just Keep on Coming
1 March 2001
I’m settling comfortably into my new apartment. It’s nice here, even if I don’t have any furniture. I actually have some free time these days and that’s turning out to be a good thing.
As if being chosen to compete in this year’s Oireachtas wasn’t enough to swell my head, now I’m being offered the opportunity to dance on stage during a Chieftains concert. Myself and another woman from my class will be doing a four hand with Donny Golden and Cara Butler. Is that cool or what?
I was beginning to get a little nervous about it because we’re dancing a ‘set’ piece–which neither of us have ever done–and we only have ten days to pull it together. But I just returned from practice and we managed to get it all memorized and are able to dance the whole thing (well, our parts, at least) all the way through without any mistakes. Now it’s just polish, polish, polish and then, hopefully, run through it at least once with Donny and Cara (we’re pretty tight these days, that’s why I can call them by their first names) before we step out in front of 10,000 paying customers.
So, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have furniture. Now I have lots of room to practice.
I just hope I can avoid making an idiot out of myself. And, of course, I hope we get to party with the band.
The Furniture Man Cometh
7 March 2001
Well, that’s what they said, anyway. They were supposed to be here between 8 and noon and, while it isn’t quite noon yet, I don’t hear them running up the stairs right now to make the deadline.
Our big premier is still on for Saturday. We should be getting together at least once again for some more polish and confidence. After that, I expect we’ll just run through it with all four of us before we go out on stage (I certainly hope so, at least).
So right now, even though I’m dressed for work, I couldn’t resist doing a few steps around the vacant living room. Probably my last chance before it gets all cluttered up with couches and coffee tables and chairs. I’m really going to miss all that extra room. Furniture is vastly overrated.
Living Like an Adult
09 March 2001
Despite the initial yearnings of my white-trash roots, I’m glad I decided to splurge on a nice apartment and buy good furnishing. It’s a lot cheaper to live life as if it’s one long college semester but, ultimately, it’s not very comfortable.
Our performance piece is coming along quite well. Good thing, too, since we’re doing it on stage tomorrow night. My partner and I ran through it (and through it, and through it, and through it) last night at the studio. It’s a bit called “The Ballyfin Polka” and, while not exactly an elegant dance, it is a lot of fun as well as hard to screw up. (Do you think that’s why they picked it?)
My partner is still a bit uncertain, but she needn’t be; she’s dancing very well. As for my part, I’m as pleased as I’m likely to get. Our spins, our lead arounds, everything, all spot on. We’re as ready as we can be, so there isn’t any need to worry.
I actually haven’t given a thought to it all day. It surprised me when someone wished me luck on my way out of work and I realized the show is tomorrow night. Despite my insouciance, I expect I’ll be feeling a butterfly or two as I walk out on stage.
Just think, tomorrow night about this time, I’ll be twirling Cara Butler in my arms. Way cool!!
My 15 Minutes
12 March 2001
Our big stage debut with the Chieftains was last Saturday night. I’ve been so busy e-mailing my friends and tinkering with my photographs that I haven’t had time to update my Dance Diary.
In short, it went over smoothly. We all had a blast and Donny and Cara were both gracious, helpful and accommodating.
Our performance couldn’t have been smoother. Despite the fact that the four of us never did get to do a practice run through of the steps, I wasn’t very nervous, even while waiting in the wings for them to announce our names. We walked out on stage, the music started and we were off. I don’t recall seeing or even being aware of the audience or the band; there was nothing but the dance. I remember just enjoying myself tremendously. When Donny swung my partner, he lifted her off the floor, much to the delight of the audience. She managed to keep her composure and didn’t miss a beat. I wasn’t about to try anything like that with Cara-she’s bigger than I am.
Once it was over, we could relax. The ones who had to worry then were the eight young ladies–ages 13 and up–from our school who were performing a hard shoe and, later, a Reel. They had a lot more at stake than I did; they were going to be out there longer, dancing much more difficult steps and all eyes would be on them.
The single most crystal memory I have of the evening was while I waited behind the four dancers entering from the left side of the stage. I was in the wings with them to get some photos of their performance. Just before they were called out, they turned to each other, joined hands and said a quick but fervent prayer. Even though I’m not particularly religious I was deeply touched. To me, it underscored their fear and their willingness to look beyond their fear in order to realize the best within themselves. It was so ingenuous, so poignant and so sincere that I want to turn into a weepy little girl just thinking about it.
They all, of course, performed brilliantly. The audience loved them, and their dances were as crisp and precise as the pro’s. We were all very proud of them.
It was a fantastic night; it’s going to be a long while before another one comes along to top it.
Cara Butler, me, Colleen, Donny Golden.
Back: Courtney, Megan, Cara, Donny, Jennifer, Ainsley
Front: Allison, Deirdre, Kimberly, Caitlyn
Too Much Time on My Hands
18 March 2001
Okay, time to take down the good entry and move on to my more mundane life.
This week, I got to march in the parade with the school. It was more fun than I thought it would be. The younger dancers all took turns dancing out in front of our column. I just walked in back with the rest of the adults–dancers and parents–and waved to the occasional familiar face in the crowd.
Afterwards, I visited one of our more popular Irish Pubs. It was, as you might imagine, mobbed. I managed to squeeze in and secure a pint only to find myself hemming in so tightly I could scarcely draw a breath. The crowd was a blur of green apparel, goofy hats, red hair, green eyes and freckles.
I didn’t stay long, and managed to get home at a decent hour. With little else to do, I decided to make better dancing ‘Flash Cards.’ The ones I was using were hand-written in my illegible scrawl so I took the computer file I have of all the dances I’ve learned, put them in order, modified them to fit in a 3×5 inch space, printed them, cut them out and glued each on to a 3×5 index card. I know the next thing I’m going to want is an index card file to store them in, and maybe, after they get to be too many to keep track of, I’ll color code them to make them easier to locate.
Someone stop me!
Note bagepipe chanter in the background–I have flashcards for that, too.
Did It Again!!!
24 March 2001
Finally getting down to some serious practicing and do you know what I’m finding out? My toe still hurts.
I’ve been very careful with it, making sure to dance in hard shoes or sneakers or, if I’m in my soft shoes in class or my slipper at home, to not actually do the ‘Toe Down’ on that foot. But this morning I did make contact with the floor, just a little, something I probably wouldn’t even feel with my right foot. The pain was tremendous and now my toe is swelling up again. (At least this time I hurt it while dancing, last week I hit it against the couch while I was vacuuming.)
I’m beginning to think I did some serious and permanent damage to it. The only good thing is, if I can keep from hitting it, it doesn’t keep me from dancing. I just have to remember to dance in hard shoes all the time.
There is more good news. The ‘clicks’ have continued to elude me, but I recently received some advice from another dancer which seems to be helping. Yesterday I managed ten clicks in a row before missing. It was only with my right foot leading and they were low, but its a start. Now I just have to keep at it.
But not right now. My foot hurts.
This is Getting Good
27 March 2001
Had a great time in class last night. We learned the rest of that Three Hand we’re doing for the Recital. It’s really long and quite involved. I’m looking forward to doing it and I’m glad we’re getting more of a part this year. I think that means our teacher must be confident of our abilities.
I’m also doing fairly well with my pipes. I’m getting near the point where I can stop using the practice chanter so much and actually get on the pipes. That’s going to be fun, too, though the neighbors may think differently.
All this, and the freedom to compete in any Feiseanna I choose. I have a feeling this is going to be a fun summer. All I have to do is practice, practice, practice.
Dog Days
31 March 2001
This week, I’m babysitting my ex-dog. All in all, I can’t say as I mind. It’s sort of nice to have her around again and she fell right back into her old routines quickly enough. The only major problem is, I can’t leave her alone in the apartment, even for a few minutes, because she starts to howl in a way that will break your heart and really tick off the neighbors.
Consequently, I’m spending a lot of time at home these days, which is encouraging me to practice more.
Some days ago, I winnowed out my dances, keeping only those I expect to be doing over the coming summer. This helped me focus and feel like I’m making some real progress. Also, I’ve gotten back to my old, and successful, routine of running through each dance once or twice a day, only now I’m running through them three or four times a day–while taking a break from the computer, waiting for the coffee to brew, watching the weather channel to see when the nice weather is finally going to get here . . . I ought to practice more with my hard shoes on, but at least I’m practicing.
I truly wonder, though, if I’m going to be able to get out to go to class this week.
April
A Hopeful Sign
2 April 2001
Like many of the women in my life, my ex-dog seems to have discovered that, after spending a certain amount of time with me, the idea of not being with me becomes more and more appealing.
I’m not saying she jumped for joy when I left this morning (“Oh, good, he’s gone! Now I can finally work on my novel.”) but she didn’t fuss as much as Friday so I’m hopeful she’ll be calm enough to leave for an hour or two this evening while I go to dance class.
Good thing, too. I might have memorized all the steps to that Three Hand, but it certainly has a few rough spots to smooth out. The more practice, the better.
I’m still pretty psyched about the Recital and all the dancing we get to do in it. I just hope I can learn all I need to learn and polish it all up sufficiently by then.
After all, we’ve only got two and a half more months to go.
Way Too Much Time On My Hands
4 April 2001
This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to live by myself. Do you know what this is?
It’s a chart, listing every day of every week of every month from now until September–along with my dances. What I propose to do is mark off each time I practice certain dances to make sure I’m spending enough time on each of them.
Is that about the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen, or what?
The sad thing is, I can do worse. Oh, much, much worse.
It won’t amount to anything, naturally; I just felt the urge to make a chart.
On a happier note, in addition to the really cool Three Hand we’re going to be doing in The Recital, we are now doing a really cool Treble Reel, complete with choreography. We only started learning it at our last class so it has a lot of rough edges, but with some work it will be quite nice.
I wish I was looking forward to my piping recital with as much anticipation.
Too Busy Doing Nothing
14 April 2001
I’ve been reminded that I’m neglecting my Dance Diary lately. I appreciate that; it means someone is actually reading this.
I wish I could say I’ve been too busy diligently practicing my dance steps to update but the truth is I’ve just been lazy.
Also, with my piping recital weighing heavily on my mind, practicing step dance took a back seat to chanter practice over the past week or so. The pipe recital is over now, thankfully. I didn’t do as poorly as I had feared, mostly because of the non-stop practicing I did for the two days prior to the event. Once again we re-learn that most basic of truths: practice makes perfect.
My main problem with the pipe recital was that I had to play the practice chanter. Everyone has to start out on that way but still, I’m pretty sure I looked fairly foolish up there with two seven-year-olds and a high school sophomore.
What practicing I am doing on the dances involves the new Treble Reel choreography we’re learning. It is really a fun dance and, although it still has a lot of rough edges, I think we’re going to pull it together beautifully. That, and Reel we’re doing, will give us a fairly large part in the show. A lot different from the first year we performed.
I’m continuing to check off the days, and the practice sessions, on my chart but it seems to be helping more in the piping area than with dance. Still, it’s doing some good.
No class this week, so I’d better make sure I put in some extra practice. I can’t afford to get too rusty.
Great Practice
24 April 2001
Quite the work out yesterday evening! We practiced our Three Hand over and over and we’re getting it down pretty well. Same with our Treble Reel; we’re smoothing out the parts we know and are getting closer to learning the entire thing.
I’m actually looking forward to the Recital this year–I think it’s going to be a blast. My Feis season is looking a little thin, however. I managed to book both the weekend of the East Durham Feis (I’ll be in Ireland that week!) and the weekend of our own Dongan Feis. I’m hoping I can at least put in an appearance. If we dance early enough, I might even be able to compete. Beyond that, I’ll have to check the websites for additional Feisanna to attend.
In addition to the Recital, we’re starting Oireachtas practice soon (say that ten times fast). That’s going to be a lot of fun, too, both the practice sessions and the Oireachtas.
The weather is turning warm here (finally) but that means some hot practices. We were all a bit over-heated by the end of class. Can’t wait for August!
May
Boy, Do I Suck!
1 May 2001
After a hectic Saturday, wonderful, but tiring, Sunday and a business trip on Monday, I arrived at class a little beat and out of practice.
My dancing was lackluster at best. My steps always just a bit off (and occasionally, really, really off) and had trouble staying on beat. The topper was when our teacher changed the hard shoe choreography and I found the new steps a little awkward. I told her I was having a problem with it and she, naturally, demonstrated it for me with an offhanded grace. I said something like, “Well, when I do that, I tend to kick myself in the back of the heel.” To demonstrate, I kicked my left heel with my right foot and both my feet went out from under me and I landed flat on my back.
I guess I made my point.
I was actually pleased to find that, even in my advancing age, I am still able to take a fall. I wasn’t hurt at all and was able to continue dancing with only minor injuries to my ego.
My toe, however, continues to give me problems. (For those of you not keeping up on the Toe Saga, I hurt it good back in February.) I find it usually begins to hurt and often times swell up during class and when I practice for any length of time at home. I’m glad it doesn’t keep me from dancing but I do wish, if I’m going to have some permanent injury, that I could at least tell people I got hurt playing football, or something equally macho, instead of having to say, “Well, I was trying this new Jig step and . . . “
A Couple of Things
8 May 2001
An Oireachtas Reel. I figured, how hard can that be? I already knew the steps, it would just be a matter of brushing them up some, right?
What was I thinking?
We arrived for practice on Sunday afternoon and basically spent the next hour and twenty minutes learning how to walk. Our Forward-2-3’s were not in synch, nor were they up to Oireachtas caliber. So, we drilled, and drilled, and drilled, and drilled, and drilled. And then we drilled some more.
The Oireachtas isn’t until November, so I had been thinking we had plenty of time. Now I have to wonder if we’re going to be ready by then.
So, the next night, we’re back for Recital practice. I’m still tired from the previous practice and someone, somehow gets the bright idea that we need to do ‘Endurance’ drills. So, we drilled, and drilled, and drilled. The best thing I can say about that is, I didn’t collapse.
Our Recital is just about a month away. I used to think that gave us plenty of time but I’m starting to wonder about that, too. Some of the steps are still pretty ragged. Guess I know what I’ll be doing with my afternoons for a while.
And I finally got my ‘Team Jacket.’ I ordered it when there was still snow on the ground and the day it came in it was 85 degrees out. No matter; it will be cold again soon enough.
The jackets are quit nice, too! Very well made and embroidered. They are black with white piping and look really sharp.
But they don’t have a ‘Man Pocket.’
A Man Pocket, for the curious among you, is a pocket on the inside of the jacket’s left breast. It’s a place to carry, well, manly things. I use mine, most often, to carry my cigars.
With all the care and thought put into these jackets, you’d think they would have provided a place for dancers to carry their cigars, wouldn’t you?
Slacker!!!
18 May 2001
Wow, that long since I’ve written?!?
It’s not like I haven’t had anything to write about, I’ve just been too busy to get to it. This single life is killing me, but I’m not ready to get back on the short leash quite yet. 😉
Our Recital is coming up fast. Just a month to go and I really have to wonder if we’re going to be ready. Our dances are very cool, but our execution leaves a bit to be desired. In an effort to get up to speed, my Three-Hand team got together for some extra practice at my apartment. I put on the ‘long’ version of ‘Cotton Eyed Joe’ (we’re using that song in the Recital to dance the Three Hand to but it was too short for the choreography; not a problem if you have a PC with the proper software and a CD burner) and cranked it up as loud as it would go.
The mix sounded great–you can hardly tell where I spliced the music together. I hope the neighbors enjoyed it.
The practice session went well enough, but overall it was simply fun to get together with people who share the same passion. In discussing how Irish Dance has infiltrated our lives, we discovered that, anytime we are standing still–either talking with someone in the hallway, waiting in line or brushing our teeth–we’re standing with our feet ‘in position.’ I also still maintain the habit of going up on my toes, just to keep my feet in shape. I think little things like that really do make a difference.
Or maybe it’s just a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Crunch Time
22 May 2001
We’re gearing up for the Recital now, which is making for some intense classes. Normally, I would have thought last night’s class was a real killer, but it was nothing compared to the Regionals practice session we had the day before.
I left Regionals practice just about as sore as I remember being during my early days of Irish Dance. And I was still feeling all of my 46 years when I arrived for Recital practice, where we did nothing but drill and drill and drill for our Treble Reel. The hard work paid off, however. By the end of the session we had graduated to ‘Passable.’
Three more weeks to go.
Filip, fellow dancer and e-Friend from Brussels, Belgium wrote me today and told me something interesting and amusing. Apparently, my dance diary is as popular in Europe as it is here in the States (which means about a dozen people look at it every now and again). This could lead to something big! A lot of superstars take that route–make it big in Europe, then break into the American marketplace. Just think, I could be the Abba of Irish Dance!
I’ve been looking over my web site lately and notice a lot of mislabeled photographs. I think the reason isn’t so much carelessness as it is I find it difficult to recognize these young ladies when they are decked out for dancing. Sometimes I see them in their civilian clothes at the Studio and then, much later, when I see them at a Fies, I actually believe they are two different people.
This says more about me than it does Irish dance; any normal person wouldn’t have such a hard time recognizing the ‘shorts and tee shirt, sweating to the “One-More-Time” chant of our teacher’ dancer and the ‘curly wig, glittery dress, make up and poodle socks’ dancer as being the same person. I just seem to have a problem in that area.
So, if you’re a friend of mine and you get your hair lightened and/ or styled, don’t say to me, “Notice anything different?” and expect me to respond with something reasonable and polite like, “Oh, you got your hair done. It looks really nice.”
Instead, I’m more likely to ask, “Who ARE you?”
Really, do these two young ladies look like the same person to you?
Getting My Irish Up
29 May 2001
It seems the more I dance, the more I want to dance.
Over the past months, I had fallen into a comfortable ‘maintenance’ routine where I would practice every couple of days and then try to hold my own in class. Now that we’re preparing for competitions and shows, I find myself at two weekly dance classes and one weekly get together with my teammates.
Instead of making me sick of dancing, it seems to have energized me. I actually practice more on my off-hours, not less, and, during the work day, I find myself thinking about the dances while quietly shuffling my feet beneath the desk.
Then, last Friday, I was out at a local Irish pub and, when the singer started a particularly lively Irish tune, I got up in front of the stage and did a Treble Jig. It was great fun and the other patrons loved it.
That’s not something I’ve ever done, or even thought about doing before. I must admit, however, that a certain amount of alcohol has to be factored into my decision to ‘go public.’
June
The Anti-Dancing Dog
1 June 2001
In preparation for our upcoming Recital, my three-hand team has been holding weekly, informal practice sessions at my apartment. Apparently, word has gotten out.
This past week, we were joined by another member of our dance class, her two daughters, and a hyperactive cocker spaniel.
This is proving to be great fun and, this week especially, a good test of the durability and versatility of my apartment. With the living room cleared out, there was plenty of room to dance and I was able to set my PC’s CD software to an acceptable volume without blowing the speakers. Resting dancers sat on the couch and chairs or lounged on the floor, water bottles and half-filled tumblers were everywhere and sneakers, sandals, pocketbooks and dance bags littered the kitchen.
It looked like a dance studio in miniature, only with better air conditioning and beer.
While I have my doubts about my apartment’s ability to contain sound (the woman who arrived last said she could hear the music long before she reached my landing) there is obviously nothing lacking in its structural integrity. With the music blaring as loud as it would go, the four of us stomped our hearts out to our Treble Reel without feeling so much as a tremor or vibration in the floor. Still, I have to wonder what the downstairs neighbors were thinking.
There were no complaints, however, except from my ex-dog.
I don’t own the dog, I’m just the non-custodial parent with visitation rights. She’s been here before but this was the first time she’s witnessed a dance session.
In my previous life, the ex-dog displayed a curious attitude toward dance. I could dance; my girlfriend could dance; we could dance at the same time even. But if we touched each other, the she would go wild, running around in circles barking her head off (I’m talking about the dog, not my ex-girlfriend).
I always thought she was just jealous.
At my apartment, however, she sat placidly watching us stomp out our Treble Reel, but when we performed the 3-Hand Reel and I took my partner’s hand, she immediately began running around barking like a lunatic (again, I’m talking about the dog, not my partner). She got so bad I had to lock her out on the balcony where she glared at us through the glass, barking disapprovingly.
Maybe she’s descended from fundamentalists.
And I Thought Dancing Was Hard
5 June 2001
Our Recital steps are coming along. Slowly, but they are coming along.
We were drilled and drilled and drilled again last night until I thought I wouldn’t be able to do another step. Then our teachers says, “Okay, five more times.”
It wouldn’t be so bad except every time we screw up, it doesn’t count and we have to do it over again without decrementing our five dances. And even that wouldn’t be so bad except I stop dancing or otherwise screw up every time our teacher flinches.
I’m so used to her waving us off if we’re screwing up badly that all she has to do is scratch her nose or brush her hair out of her eyes and I assume it’s a gesture of displeasure and I lose my place. Not that those are the only times I screw up. I’m much more creative than that! During our Three-Hand, my partners and I stepped out to do our solo, which has a quick ‘up-right-left’ move in it. The idea is to bring your foot to one side of your knee and then the other side really quickly. It’s a cool looking move when done correctly, which I can do most times.
That time, however, when I lifted my foot I had a momentary brain-cramp and couldn’t remember which side of my knee I was supposed to go to first. So I figured I’d split the difference.
I guess I didn’t think it though.
I kicked myself square in the knee and had to just stop and wait for my partners to finish so I could take my bow and limp back into line. Unlike the toe incident, I didn’t hurt myself badly and can’t even feel it today. I just hope I don’t do something quite that boneheaded at The Recital.
But as strenuous as the dancing has been lately, it’s nothing compared to the workout I’m getting with my pipes.
After ten months on the practice chanter I finally graduated to the actual bagpipes. My teacher corked off the drones (those big, scary looking things that stick over your shoulder when you hold the pipes) and found a really flexible reed so it wouldn’t be too hard to play. My assignment was to be able to blow a single note for two minutes.
Piece of cake, right?
After three days I could do a solid 45 seconds. It’s been a week now and I can, sometimes, get two minutes, but not without literally working up a sweat.
The other odd thing is, the ducks that live in the courtyard outside my apartment have taken to gathering underneath my balcony when I practice. Are they trying to tell me that my efforts don’t resemble music as much as they do a lovesick duck?
Irish Diplomacy
9 June 2001
Ah, New York City! It’s as close as I can come to Ireland without actually flying across the Atlantic.
Another business trip afforded me the opportunity of visiting my favorite Irish Pubs, P J Clancy’s and Muldoon’s, both on 3rd Avenue near 42nd street. As usual, the conversation and the Guinness flowed and I met hardly a person who had not either been born in Ireland or who had not visited there recently. The most asked question among the patrons seemed to be, “How long have you been in America?”
One coaxing colleen had arrived from Dublin only three days prior. She was my vision of Ireland, with long and curly red locks, fair skin and green eyes. She assured me, however, that only about 9% of the Irish population looked like her. Most were darker, with black hair and brown eyes. This was disappointing but I was glad to hear that they all talked like her, at least. I find that brogue so alluring.
After doing my best to cement Irish-American relations at Clancy’s I made my way to Muldoon’s where I met up with the UN Ambassador from the Fiji Islands. He and his two companions were in Muldoon’s, he told me, because they liked the atmosphere.
No, really, he was an actual ambassador.
Apparently, Irish Pubs were very popular with them and we talked of pubs and Irish culture from Cork to Canberra. They were impressed to hear that I was an Irish dancer and bagpipe player. Thankfully, they did not ask for a demonstration for, by that time, even coherent speech was becoming difficult.
When I found out he was a diplomat the first thing I said was, “Hey, you have diplomatic immunity. Let’s go speeding!” He told me he didn’t have a car and I get the feeling that was a good thing because we might have actually done it. (Can they arrest you if you’re with a diplomat?)
We continued to buy rounds for one another and parted warmly despite my having mistakenly referred to his country as Fugi, after the more well-known, and economical, 35 millimeter film.
I managed to find my way to the train and slipped promptly off to sleep, musing over the many Fiji facts I had so recently learned and grateful that, if my gaffe had propagated the image of the ‘Ugly American’ I at least had not started a war.
Know the difference!
The Recital Report
17 June 2001
Rituals:
I love rituals. There’s a comfort in them, a familiarity that lets us know that we belong. Maybe that’s why I like smoking cigars so much; there’s the ritual of selection, cutting, heating, lighting and savoring each flavorful puff. This ritual–performing it, understanding it–bonds me with cigar smokers everywhere.
On the morning of the Recital, I became aware of the Rituals of Preparation: getting the dance outfit together (admittedly much less of a ritual for me than for the ladies), packing the dance bag, taping the shoes, little things that only another Irish Step Dancer would understand or appreciate; things that suddenly illuminated the fact that I was part of something greater than myself, that I was, indeed, an Irish Step Dancer.
It was a good feeling, almost as good as clipping a fine cigar.
Gathering:
At the Troy Music Hall we gathered together for the class photo then obsessed over our dances. The Beginner Adults appeared as nervous and uncertain as we had been at our first recital. I showed them to the big, empty hallway where we used to go over our steps before performing and watched them practice for a while.
These guys were GOOD!!!
Judi, Ellen, Jill
Claire, Chris, Lynn
It was an oddly reflective moment, seeing this new group of dancers in the same place we had been in two seasons prior. We had come a long way since then, and now a new group of dancers was moving up to join us. For me personally, watching the Beginner Class drove home, not only how far I had come, but how far I had to go; these ladies were good, and when I was a Beginner I pretty much sucked.
Triumph:
The usual amount of jitters accompanied us onto the stage, but as soon as we began our Three Hand all nervousness faded. We performed the choreography nearly perfectly and had great fun doing it.
We had a better first half than second half.
Chris, Ron, Jenn, Marion
Mark, Erin, Catie
Peggy, Colleen, Michele, Mike
We left the stage with a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing we had done a good job.
Heartbreak:
Our Treble Reel had given us problems right through dress rehearsal. Sometimes we would be on beat, sometimes not. Even though we were high from our Three Hand there remained a lingering concern, but overall we were confident all would go smoothly.
We lined up, danced onto the stage, turned on the eight-count and started our routine. Right from the first stamp-stamp-shuffle I knew we were off, but there was nothing we could do about it. Jen was not going to wave us off and have us start over so we forged ahead, getting further and further off beat as we went along. It was agonizing.
A bit beyond the halfway point in the choreography there is a little interlude where we split into two lines. At this point we were able, albeit a bit awkwardly, to match up to the music. We then only had to perform a few simple steps, which led into the well-rehearsed finale. But as we hit the finale, I found myself inexplicably and inexcusably off-step.
I have no clear idea how it happened but I wasn’t worried. A quick look at my partner’s feet told me where I was off; I corrected, but was still off. Another look, another correction; still wrong. Another look, another correction; STILL wrong. At that point, I simply stopped dancing and, out of frustration, mouthed a familiar pejorative that anyone watching me would instantly recognize. Moments later I stepped back into the routine and finished up with the others.
When we left the stage, we were not smiling.
It’s difficult to put into words how defeated we felt, so I won’t try. Suffice it to say that the Treble Reel represented more to us than a mere dance; it was our chance to prove ourselves, our chance to show we had what it took. And, as a class, we blew it; and as an individual, I blew it BIG time.
Many of us, myself included, felt so badly that we went to both of our teachers and personally apologized.
Denouement:
As the Recital ended, one of my classmates handed me a gift-wrapped box. It was, she told me, a token of appreciation from my classmates for my anal-retentive habit of writing down all the steps and e-mailing them to everyone every week, something I do, not because I’m a really nice guy, but because I’m obsessive-compulsive and can’t help it. Still, feeling thankful and humbled, I accepted the package.
The post-Recital celebration included myself and one other dancer, and it wasn’t much of a celebration. We were subdued, still smarting over the ass-kicking the Treble Reel had given us. At that point, I wasn’t feeling much like an Irish Step Dancer.
Then I remembered the package my fellow dancers had given me., so I laid it on the table and unwrapped the small box.
Inside the box were cigars.
Back in the Saddle
19 June 2001
I think I’ve done enough public penance. So I made an idiot out of myself; it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. It’s time to move beyond that now. (I even put photos up — go look at them.)
And none too soon, either. I’ve got three feisanna coming up, a workshop and an Oireachtas–and I’ve been letting my solo dances slip these past weeks in favor of the Recital choreography.
My dance board has been idle lately, so I’ve moved it into the kitchen where I can make use of it more easily. I am so supremely lazy that it is simply too much trouble for me to carry it out of the bedroom when I need to practice hard shoe. Now I’ll have no excuse, just a cluttered kitchen.
But that shouldn’t matter, either. My living room is also cluttered. I’ve got my bagpipe case permanently open on the floor with my pipes ready to play. Likewise my guitar case. I never eat at my dinning table, that’s where I keep my chanter and a flurry of music sheets, both for guitar and bagpipes. The divider between the living room and kitchen remains covered with dance note cards.
My apartment isn’t an apartment as much as it is a rehearsal studio.
And that’s fine by me. Since moving out on my own I’ve noticed a marked improvement in my music and (the recent Recital notwithstanding) my dancing. If I can avoid any distractions, I might actually be halfway decent by the end of summer.
You’re Only as Good as Your Last Performance
22 June 2001
(Preface note: After the Recital debacle, a classmate wrote an e-mail to me titled “Reeling in Pain.” I’m so chagrined that I didn’t think of that as the title for my Recital entry. I must be slipping.)
Because I’m a believer in the saying, “You’re only as good as your last performance,” I’ve been really itchy to get practicing on my feis dances. I wanted to perform again to put The Recital behind me.
Unfortunately, I had oral surgery this past week and was out of dancing commission for a few days (that’s bad news, but what’s worse is I’ll be out of piping commission for a lot longer). I did managed to collect all the dances I’m planning on doing and was able to go over them in my head and step through them once or twice.
I’m feeling better now and probably could have practiced dancing last night at home if I hadn’t been out in the pub dancing in public.
It wasn’t my fault. I went there after a retirement luncheon with some friends of mine, only to find out they were having entertainment. It didn’t take long for the singer to get the crowd going. There was a young girl of about 12 there with him who danced to a few of his songs. She did a hard shoe and a light reel–complete with her dance shoes–and she was very, very good. She must have been a preliminary or champion.
I didn’t dare dance while she was there because she was so good, but after she left I did a few Reels and Treble Jigs. I also sang a few songs and, toward the end of the evening, sang “The Beggerman” and danced at the same time.
I think I’ve finally exorcised The Ghost of Recital Past.
Oh, . . . Just, . . . Dammit!
24 June 2001
Hurt myself again, and it feels like it has the potential to take me out of commission for a few days. First the oral surgery, now this.
As I’ve been saying, I let my solo dances slide during Recital mania, and right after that I had my wisdom tooth pulled. Now I find I have, not just one each of the five dances I’m planning on doing, but two of each. For those of you playing the home game, that’s ten steps, plus a two-hand, I have to pull together in about three weeks.
Not a problem, really. I’m familiar with most of the steps and it’s not like it was when I was still learning to actually dance; I already know the steps, I just have to arrange them into the proper order in my head.
I successfully did most of that yesterday, stepping through the solos in my mind and on the kitchen floor. Today I thought I’d actually dance a few and then thought I’d better try one troublesome Reel to music t see where I was messing it up.
I noticed I was getting a bit fatigued in my right leg, but didn’t think anything of it until that ‘jump-the-fence’ move, at which time it seized up on me–with all the appropriate, accompanying pain–when I landed on it.
In retrospect, I guess I should have stretched first.
I tried to walk it off, but found I couldn’t even walk. The only thing I could think of to do was hot pack it, which I’m doing now.
It’s actually making it feel better and I’m congratulating myself on thinking of the idea on my own–with no woman around to watch me, common sense is sometimes hard to come by. (On the other hand, as soon as the hot-pack started making it feel better, I attempted to dance on it again–there’s that dearth of common sense I was eluding to.)
So right now, I’m out on my balcony, alternately massaging, hot-packing and tentatively walking on my wounded leg and hoping against hope that I’ll be back at 100% for class tomorrow.
This is so surprising; I really didn’t expect my leg to give out. I figured I’d break my ankle doing the ‘rocks.’
Reeling in Pain
27 June 2001
Ha! I finally got to steal my buddy Mark’s idea for a diary heading.
And, unfortunately, it’s all too accurate.
After limping around the apartment for a few hours on Sunday afternoon, my leg felt good enough to go out for a beer. Naturally, I went to my favorite Irish Pub where, naturally, I got up to do a Reel. I only got through 8 beats and had to limp back to my seat.
The next morning I could barely walk but by the afternoon I was feeling much better. Still, I couldn’t even think about dancing at class; I had to walk though the new steps and sit out the ‘step out’ session. It was killing me to not be able to dance. Merely killing me; now it’s panicking me.
There are just ten days left until the Eastern States Feis. My solos are so rusty and some I just learned at class last Monday so I haven’t even danced them yet. I MUST dance. I HAVE TO dance. Yet I can’t.
Every day my leg seems to feel better, yet when practice time rolls around I can barely get through my Reel steps and half my Jig before it gives out and I can’t dance any more. If this were just a normal week, I’d simply lay off it for a few days, relax and not worry about it until it felt 100% better. But I don’t have that luxury now. I simply MUST practice, and it is so agonizingly frustrating to know I CAN’T. Not, “I don’t feel like it,” or “I’m too busy,” or “I’m tired.” No, I actually want to practice, but I physically cannot do it.
This is not a feeling I am familiar with, and I don’t like it one little bit.
What is panicking me is the thought that, if I try to practice every day, that will keep my leg from getting better and I won’t be able to dance at the feis. And if I don’t practice, that might allow my leg to get better so I would be ABLE to dance at the feis, I just wouldn’t know HOW.
Let’s see: HARD PLACE – me – ROCK
July
Do as I Say, Not as I Do
1 July 2001
Feeling very humbled these days. It’s been a full week since I hurt my leg and I still can’t walk without limping slightly. Although I can practice, I have to keep my jumps and kicks and toe stands low so it’s not anything that really resembles Irish Dancing.
This is beginning to worry me.
Over this past week, I have been reminded of advice I, myself, have given to other dancers. Advice I ignored.
First, a new Adult Irish Dance website has been unveiled. It’s called Irish Dancing Jewels and it’s pretty cool – check it out. Anyway, I contributed some stuff from my web page and when I looked through the Jewels site, I found myself reading my own dance tips. In them, I advise stretching and warmups and, most importantly, stopping when you feel like you’re doing any damage. I guess I figured those rules didn’t apply to me because I’m invincible! I don’t feel very invincible right now.
With only one week to go and my ability to practice severely curtailed I was at a loss as to how to get my dances down pat. Then an e-pal, Samantha, wrote and told me about visualization. Something I actually wrote about and have advised other people to do. So I’ve been visualizing like crazy all week and it seems to be helping. At least I have the steps down in my head.
If only I learn to follow my own advice maybe I’ll be okay.
In addition to visualization and limited practice, I’m employing another technique. It’s sort of a mind-trick akin to visualization. I’m not going to tell you what it is, I’m going to wait to see if it works. If it does, then I let you in on it.
Panic Mode
5 July 2001
With my leg finally healed I’ve been able to put in a lot of practice these last few days. But I’m beginning to think it’s too little too late.
Lack of practice has paid off in spades; my jumps and kicks aren’t as high, my steps are awkward and tentative or just plan wrong and I simply can’t dance as gracefully or as long as I used to. Add to this the fact that I’ve developed blisters on the bottoms of my feet (how is that even possible?) and the result is some spectacularly lackluster dancing. I was actually, seriously toying with the idea of not dancing at The Big ‘E.’
As it stands now, I think I have my Reel steps down. Not polished, just down. My Jigs still need work, I’m still learning my Slip Jigs and I haven’t even begun working on my Hornpipe steps. Even so, I’m fairly certain I’ll be able to pull off at least two dances. If I’m not 100% confident of them, however, I think I’ll just bow out. I’m in no big hurry to embarrass myself, or the school. Again.
All of this has led me back to the thought that I am spreading myself too thin. In the past, I’ve limited myself to one activity at a time, and even then I didn’t always become proficient at it. With dancing and piping and all my other activities, I simply don’t have the time to become good at any of them. I have time to do them, I just don’t have the time to do them well.
To become world class at anything requires a 24/7, monomaniacal fanaticism. I don’t want to become world class, but even to elevate oneself to ‘above average’ takes a certain amount of dedication and a generous helping of time. Obviously I’m not devoting enough time and energy to my dancing, or my piping, or my writing, or any of my other odd-ball undertakings.
Obviously, something has to go. I don’t know what, but I do know it won’t be dancing.
Maybe I can quit my job . . .
Must Be the Shoes
7 July 2001
I just finished my last practice session before the Big ‘E’ Feis tomorrow.
After triaging my dances, I’ve decided to let the Hornpipe die a quiet death. I know the steps, but it’s simply too late to put any amount of polish on them. Still, I think it was a wise move to ignore it unit last–that gave me ample time to work out my Reel, Jig and Slip Jig issues. With all the practice over the past weeks and weeks focusing on that doomed Treble Reel, my shuffle steps and other hardshoe techniques (aside from STOMP STOMP) had really suffered. It would have wasted far too much time trying to get back to any acceptable level of performance.
So now I’ve got until the 21st to work on Hornpipes, and Treble Jigs; all I have to do for my softshoe dances is keep them from slipping.
After my leg–which is fine now, thanks for asking–the biggest problem was the blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I finally had a look at the shoes and found that all the padding had been squashed flat. Since it was too late to order new shoes, I had to improvise.
I took a sponge from the kitchen (No, not a used one, a NEW one; come on, that would be gross!), cut it in half and stuffed each piece into the toe area of my Reel shoes. That did the trick. I’ve been able to practice for an hour at a time without my feet hurting. Kitchen sponges–another thing to add to my dance bag gear.
In other competitions; if you check out the North American Irish Dancing Championships, you’ll find my teacher, Jen Boland, in the #10 spot for Ladies 21 and Over. Way to go, Jen!!
And she danced with a broken toe; makes me feel like a real girlyman for complaining about a strained muscle and a few blisters.
That Special Feeling
8 July 2001
After a week of practicing religiously, eating light, healthy meals, eschewing alcohol and making sure I got plenty of rest, I spent the night prior to the Eastern States Exposition Feis at a belated 4th of July party. Bedtime came much later than I would have liked, and dawn broke well before I was prepared for it. I spent a blurry hour prepping and packing and then set out for The Big E.
The weather-dreary and overcast with low fog and a nagging drizzle-complimented my countenance perfectly. It was the kind of morning God creates so people who don’t drink can know what a hangover is like. An hour and a half later, buoyed by copious amounts of coffee and Dunkin Munchkins ™ I arrived at the feis with my mood–if not the weather-somewhat improved.
I bought a program but couldn’t locate my competition numbers. It took some legwork to discover that the adult competitions were being put off until the other dancers were done. When a stage was no longer needed for other competitions, then they would let the adults dance. It’s no secret that adult dancers are little regarded in the Irish Dance community, but there’s nothing like having your nose rubbed in it.
Taking photos of other Boland dancers kept me amused for a few hours but, toward midday, my legs were tired and I was fairly wet, so I sought out dry seating in the ironically named ‘Food Court.’ As I sat there, cold, wet and alone, gnawing on an allegedly toasted bagel and sipping what was arguably the worst cup of coffee I have ever tasted, I got the feeling that everything was simply wrong. A long drive, a boring and interminable wait, all for a few minutes on stage. I quit scuba diving and pursuing stand-up comedy for the same reasons. I toyed with the idea of leaving. I wish I had listened to myself.
I practiced my dances, always getting them perfect. I bought an overpriced tin whistle and made an effort to be more annoying than I am playing the pipes. I walked around a lot. I watched the competitions, even if I didn’t know anyone in them. Finally, overcome with boredom and fatigue, I found an empty table, put my head down and took a nap.
The next thing I knew they were announcing the adult dances.
I put my shoes on in a daze, not altogether certain if I was having another dance dream or not. Either way, I wasn’t worried; inexplicably, in my dance dreams, I usually do well. I was tired and cold and hungry but figured I’d find some energy somewhere, and as we lined up for the Reel, I stepped onto the stage confident and not at all nervous; I expected to do well.
Then a strange thing happened. As the musician began playing, I couldn’t pick out the all-important lead beat. We were dancing two at a time and my partner pointed, but was she pointing on 4 or 6? I didn’t know. Then she began to dance. So, I started. And being behind, I had to improvise to catch up. Then I had to improvise to get onto the correct beat, but since I didn’t know if I was on 3 or 5, I wasn’t sure of what to do. So, I stopped and left the stage.
The stage manager, a well-meaning young lady, called me back.
“It’s okay,” she assured me. “Just go to the end of the line and start over. It’s only for fun.”
Only for fun!! I practiced all week on a sore leg, drove and hour and a half and stood in the rain for six hours just to compete and it’s all for fun? I didn’t have time to be outraged. I stood next to my Boland classmate, Colleen, shrugged off my flub up and listened to the music as it came down the line. Dancers stepped out, danced, stopped, bowed; I could never pick out the starting beat. Each ONE-2-3, TWO-2-3 had the same emphasis, and I had no idea where in the steps the beats were. Then Colleen stepped out. I stepped out with her. “Three? Four? Five?” I asked sotto voce. She began to dance. I just stood there. Then I stepped back into line.
Once again, the kindly stage manager attempted to rescue me.
“You’re just a beginner,” she said, “don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you when to start.”
The sting of the ‘only for fun’ insult had not yet subsided and now it was being compounded! “But I’m not a beginner!” I wanted to shout. “This is my third season. I know what I’m doing. Really!” But that would only have made me look more like an idiot. She counted the beats, and I started. But once again, the steps that had been so crystal clear in my mind earlier that day turned to mud, and I bogged down and stopped before the first step was halfway completed. This time I made a grand, campy bow to the applause and laugher of the spectators, and left the stage for good.
In my defence, other dancers said that, they too, had trouble picking out the starting beat. Trouble, but they did it. I guess in my case, the problem must have been exacerbated by fatigue and innate stupidity.
Since the Reel was my most rock-solid dance, I didn’t bother going back on stage for my Jig or Slip Jig. Good thing, too, because I sat and listened and could never pick up the starting beat in any of those songs either. Still, the others danced well, so I appeared to be the only one who could not overcome the musician.
I was set to leave after the last dance but they immediately began announcing winners, so I stuck around to see how Colleen did. (She did well, for those of you playing the home game.) When they announced the Reel I had (sort of) competed in I heard my number being called as tied for 3rd place, along with all the others who didn’t get 1st or 2nd. I was mortified.
To say to those dancers who had worked hard and danced well and not made the amateurish mistakes I had that they “danced as well as the guy who didn’t even finish his steps” was such an outrageous insult! Obviously, anybody who touched the stage was being presented with what I disparagingly refer to as a ‘Tuesday Award’ as if adult competitions are some sort of Special Olympics.
Naturally, I refused to accept the medal.
Do Irish Dance and I still have a future together? Absolutely. I can identify what went wrong and I can fix it. I’ll dance again and I’ll do better. What does linger in my mind is the attitude I came face to face with today. That I can’t do anything about, except cross The Big E off my list of feisanna to attend next season.
Full House
11 July 2001
My boys (twins sons, three weeks shy of their 21st birthday) are staying with me for the week. It’s long story and not very pretty, reminiscent of the forced camping trips we used to take when one of my recalcitrant and uncharitable ex-girlfriends (pick one, any one) would refuse to allow us all in her home.
Not exactly the same, but similar enough. Except this week we have indoor plumbing and there aren’t as many bugs.
But the presence of houseguests does not allow me to slack off. I’ve got another competition coming up in ten days, and after the previous fiasco, I can’t afford to take a day off from practice. So, much to their chagrin, they are forced to watch their father prance about the living room on a daily basis (they’re also forced to listen to the bagpipes, but that’s another story).
Today, I actually had my partner over to practice the Two Hand Reel. Not only did they have to see me dance, but they had to see me dance poorly. My partner and I were just introduced to this Two Hand on Monday night, so this was our first real opportunity to practice. We have one more class and, perhaps, one more practice session before we have to do it in competition.
Ten days, six dances and a cluttered living room. This is going to be very interesting.
Stage Fright
18 July 2001
I’m starting to worry that I don’t get stage fright enough.
Yeah, you heard me right. I don’t have enough stage fright. Surely paralyzing fear when you step up to perform isn’t a good thing, but some amount of apprehension tends to keep you focused.
In looking back over my recent string of screw-ups, I can see where at least some of it had to do with inattention. I think a healthy dose of performance jitters might have helped my concentration.
And one other thing that I had forgotten; although I was tired and wet and frazzled at The Big E, I still might have done okay if I hadn’t jinxed myself.
As I was getting ready to go on, I pulled my dance shoes out of my pack and set them down right on the table. That, as you know, is very bad luck. My dance teacher tried to tell me it only pertained to new shoes, but we all know better now, don’t we?
Practice for the upcoming feis is going better. We had an intense class last Monday and I managed to do all of my dances fairly well. Then, right after class, my four-hand team got together for another hour of Oireachtas Practice. We managed to find the energy to get through, though the sound of all four of us huffing and puffing in time to the music was enough to crack us up at one point.
I’m also pleased to report that the sponges I stick into the toes of my Reel shoes are working fine–I haven’t had a blister all week, despite the excessive amount of dancing I’m doing.
I just got done with a solid hour of at-home practice. I really prefer to practice with other people as it keeps my energy level up, but I did manage to keep going for the full hour, even though there was no one around yelling, “One more time!”
All six of my competition dances are coming along nicely, too. And I still have a few more days to practice before the feis. I think I’ll do well this time, as long as I can keep my shoes off the table.
Happy Dance
21 July 2001
I’m not a terribly superstitious person but, after the debacle at The Big E, I was careful to keep my dance shoes well away from any tables. I didn’t even set my dance bag containing my shoes on a table. And I wore my lucky underwear, but that’s probably more information than you wanted to know.
I won’t keep you in suspense; I did well. Out of six competitions I medalled in four: 2nd place for my Reel and Treble Jig, and 3rd place for my Slip Jig and Hornpipe. I was actually relieved to see it was possible to NOT get a medal, unlike the last feis.
It was a long and hectic but fun day. I had the opportunity to help out some and got to see first-hand the chaos and last-minute improvisation that goes into making a feis happen. I also had the opportunity to meet a lot on nice people, both dancers and non-dancers. And, of course, I got to dance.
I liked the venue we ended up in, as well. It was plenty big enough, there was a parking lot and, most convenient of all, it had a bar. Being as it was such a hot day, I took advantage of the opportunity to sit down with a cold beverage from time to time. I think this helped keep the edge off.
It was also gratifying that most of the dancers I had screwed up so royally in front of the other week were there and got to see that I can, indeed, finish a dance.
Needless to say, I smoked my victory cigar this time and enjoyed a drop of the crather with another dancer from my school. It was a nice way to unwind at the end of such a long day.
Raising the Bar
30 July 2001
Well, the Dongan Feis photos are up finally! For all the time it took me you’d think it might be something special, but the fact is I just slapped a few pages together. Nothing special. Go see for yourself.
Hey, I’ve been busy! No really, I have been. Not doing anything important, but still busy.
During the past week or so that I’ve been silent, I attended several barbeques and pool parties, and my first dance workshop. What a workout that was! As usual, I had a rough time of it, trying to get the steps in my head as well as my feet within a very short time. It didn’t work. I did manage to jot down the steps, however, so that once I get some free time, I’ll be able to practice them.
We’re also still working on our Oireachtas Four-Hand. It’s coming together fairly well. We have all the parts down, now all we need to do is polish it up.
The feis, the workshop and the upcoming regional competition has put the idea of topping out into my mind again. At this point in my dancing career, I can no longer improve simply by learning another step. The curve is steeper here, and improving means putting in a lot of time and effort. I don’t mind that (once summer is over I’ll have lots of time) but it does beg the question, “Just how far up that curve do you think you can go?”
It’s not a depressing idea, just something that’s occurring to me after watching some of the world’s best at the Trinity Dance performance. What they are doing is so far above the capability of my mind and body. But what I’m doing now is, I believe, still below it. So somewhere between what I’m doing now and what they were doing on stage is my limit.
I guess the challenge and the fun is searching for that limit, finding it, and then moving–just a little–beyond it.
August
Winding Down, Gearing up
5 August 2001
Here it is, August already and I’m nowhere near ready for it. I want to know who’s responsible!
I’m still struggling with time. It frustrates me because I know there actually is ample time to do that things I need and want to do, I’m just not using it wisely. That doesn’t help, however, when the days fly by and web-work remains undone and practice time comes and goes unnoticed.
It’s only August 5th and my month is shot already. The past three days were spent traveling and next week I’ll be leaving for Ireland. I won’t be returning until the end of the month. I’d like to think I’ll practice while I’m away, but I know better. When I do get back, it will be a new school year; that is going to mean some changes to the school’s web pages, as well as another design for my 2001-2002 dance diary. I think I’ll do myself a favor and keep the next one simple.
My ambition to take my dancing to the next level is still with me. I haven’t done anything about it, but it’s still there. I did manage to screw up enough courage to watch the video from The Recital; as predicted, it wasn’t as bad as we had imagined. Our Three-Hand looked great, and our doomed Treble Reel was off-beat, but in synch, so the audience didn’t appear to notice or care. It was funny watching it, however. I was counting out the beats and watching all twelve of us stomping in unison about a quarter second too soon. And, if you looked closely, you could see me shuffling around at the end as if I didn’t know what I was doing (which I didn’t) but thankfully, the camera was too far away to catch my expression or to lip-read the pejorative I expressed.
Other than that, watching the video inspired me to want to do more. I was able to see the Senior class dance and compare it to our more tame steps and make some sort of mental connection between what they are capable of and what we currently are doing. If I have learned anything useful during my life it is that you cannot do anything unless you can envision doing it; if you can’t see yourself doing it, then you can’t do it, if you can, then you can. All along I’ve been thinking I could never dance like that. I still know I can never do some of the things they do, but I can clearly envision myself doing some of the faster and fancier steps. To that end, I’m looking forward to the beginning of the next dance school season.
Sort of along the same lines, I am improving dramatically on the pipes. This, of course, is taking time away from my dancing, but at least I’m getting something out of it. Now, at last, after a year of lessons and practice and frustration and agonizingly slow improvements, I can pick up my bagpipes, strike in, play a song–several, actually–with the full pipes and stop cleanly (some times). I guess I’m a piper now. There is much room for improvement but, like with my dancing, I can now clearly see myself where I want to be and doing what I want to do.
All I have to do is catch up with the vision.
Shannon Bound
14 August 2001
I know it’s been a while since I’ve updated, but I’ve been kinda busy. It will also be a long time before I update again, because I’ll be kinda gone.
All this week I’ve been preparing for my trip to Ireland. I went out to my favorite Irish pub and did some pub dancing. I attended an Irish Festival with bands, and pipers, and our own Boland dancers. I’ve been busy practicing my own piping and dancing. I’ve been playing Irish ballads on my guitar. I’m even working with my penny whistle. And I’ve been drinking lots of Guinness.
Now all I have to do is pack.
In addition to all of this, I’ve been rehearsing my “Why yes, I AM a little bit Irish on my mother’s side” speech. I want it to sound natural, as if I’ve been saying it all my life. Actually, her grandparents came from Germany but that isn’t going to do me a lot of good in an Irish pub, surrounded by Irish Catholics, once they realize there is a Limey, Protestant Harling in the midst.
Don’t forget, I used to sing in Irish pubs. I sang under the name Merv Galway and never told anyone any different. On St. Patrick’s Day, when they all had a few pints of bitters under their belts and were ready to join up with the IRA, things could get fairly nasty at the mere mention of an Orangeman. No way am I going to rub elbows with the locals in Ennis, Galway, Limerick or Ballina without some Irish in me.
I’ll be landing in Shannon on Friday morning, and from there I’ll be going on a weeklong hiking tour of the western coast, through counties Mayo and Galway and Clare. After that, I’m heading off on my own. I’m traveling light and alone so I hope to cover a lot of ground.
And don’t worry; I’m bringing my digital camera and enough memory for about 350 photos. I won’t post all of them, but I’m sure I’ll be tempted to try.
I R E L A N D !
August 17 – 28, 2001
Preface:
I first need to point out that I severely underestimated Ireland. A major portion of my holiday consisted of a seven-day hiking trip with a variety of folks, mostly from England, as the company sponsoring the hikes was also based in England.
Being well aware of the American tendency toward the dramatic, I tend to downplay the descriptions I read. If a passage describing a hike in the Adirondack Mountains reads “a very rocky and wet trail, be sure to wear good hiking boots.” I would go, as is my habit, in my sneakers, certain to find an easily navigated path. So, when the brochure for the Ireland hikes mentioned that the trails might be a bit wet, I decided I didn’t need to lug hiking boots all the way across the Atlantic. Naturally, I was forgetting that, in British terms, ‘a bit wet’ means the water rarely goes above your knees.
Consequently, I undertook these hikes in sneakers (or Trainers, as the Brits refer to them). That was not a good idea. Ireland is a land filled with bogs and wetlands the likes of which I have never before seen nor even imagined. Still, I managed fairly well, although my English friends all thought me rather mad.
All the following entries can be found in my book, Postcards From Ireland
You know what to do.
Limerick
The Group
Croagh Patrick
The Slough of Despond
The Wimpy American
Death March
Inishmore
The Cliffs of Moher
The Ring of Kerry
Ennis and Killarney
Travel Journal
Back Home
31August 2001
Ireland was wonderful!
It truly is an emerald isle, and with good reason. My first glimpse of Ireland was from the air as we came in for a landing. Through a break in the clouds, I saw the trademark green, rolling hills lined with stone fences and dotted with grazing cows and sheep. I was just thinking how sunny it had been for the entire trip and wondering why everyone said Ireland had such dreary weather. (NOTE: Obviously, I don’t fly very often.)
Just as the reason for this was occurring to me, we descended beneath the cloud cover and landed in an overcast, drizzling Irish dawn. It rained for the next four days.
In the days that followed, I was introduced to Irish pubs, Irish breakfasts, Irish coffee, Irish Guinness (it really does taste different over there) and Irish bogs. All the while I was there, however, I never, not once, saw an Irish Step Dancer.
On my final evening, I was in a quaint pub in Killarney listening to some traditional Irish music and the lack of step dancing occurred to me once again. Naturally, I got up and did a few steps. My dancing suffered from too little practice and too much Guinness but since the pub was filled mostly with tourists no one seemed to mind.
I also got to sing some Irish ballads, which went over well, and I was able to enjoy the remainder of the evening content that my visit to Ireland was now complete.
I had many other experiences in the days I was there. As soon as I sort through the 300 photos I took and transcribe my notes, I will create a travelogue chronicling my adventures.
Look for it sometime in September.
September
Starting Over
03 September 2001
Another year, another redesign of my Dance Diary.
Obviously, I’m taking the minimalist approach. I figure, this way, I can concentrate more on content and not worry so much about the technical aspects.
Our School year actually begins, for me, on September 17th, but I’ve been dancing all along due to feis prep and Oireachtas practice. Due to slacking off for two weeks while I was in Ireland, I feel a bit out of shape. That showed during our last practice. Even so, I managed to hold up and we have finally gotten to the point where we can do the entire dance without messing up. Now we just have to polish it up. Two more months to go.
Ireland was fun, but I never saw one step dancer. I guess they leave that to us Americans. I did manage to do a Reel in an authentic Irish pub, however, even if too little practice and too many Guinness took their toll on my steps.
One thing that is true about the Irish, they love to sing. There was a lot more singing than dancing going on over there, and I was happy to join in. In that regard, I did very well, and many of the locals were surprised to discover I was an American.
But now holidays are over, it’s time to knuckle down and get serious about my dancing again. You know, I still don’t have those clicks down yet . . .
Embracing Life
23 September 2001
Yeah, it’s been a while, I know. I don’t expect you’re all wondering why, however.
Like everyone else in America and beyond, normal life came to an abrupt halt on September 11, and getting it to start up again has been a long and faltering process. For a long time, I simply didn’t feel like doing anything; life was gray and surreal and very, very sad.
There came a day, however, when I thought it was time to begin moving, so I made myself go out (an interesting turn of events in and of itself, as I usually have to force myself to stay in) to my favorite pub to hear some of those rowdy, funny and sad Irish songs that always made me feel good to be alive.
The atmosphere in the pub was subdued and even the singer did not appear to be in good spirits. Privately he confessed to me that he had not wanted to play but felt that he ought to. Somewhere he found the ability to shine and, gradually, the patrons and other musicians began to shine along with him. For the first time in many days I heard singing and laughter and, during one particularly lively jam, I even got up to dance.
I left feeling more alive than I had in a long time.
In the days that followed our dance year began and I attended Oireachtas Practice sessions. It was good to catch up with old friends at our first class, and gratifying to see our 4-hand coming together.
Yesterday, we had a chance to try out our performance piece in front of a live audience. Out school did two shows at the Irish Festival 2000 in Altamont, NY and our group was scheduled in amongst the talented younger dancers. We did all right; despite a few rough spots, I think it was a good, considering it was the first time we did it in front of an audience. Our second performance, which was preceded by several pints of Guinness, went even better. At least, I think it did.
After the performances, I stayed on to listen to the pipers and Celtic bands. At the end of the evening, I watched a popular, local Celtic rock band called Hair of the Dog. They put on a raucous show and, while they kept us aware of the recent tragic events through their music and personal stories, they maintained an overall festive mood. The crowd cheered and sang and, you guessed it, I got up and danced. Usually, the crowd enjoys when I do that, but this time they actually demanded I go back up and do it again.
Toward the end of the evening, the band, and the crowd, sang and emotional version of “God Bless America,” raising our pints at the final crescendo. It was touching and inspiring at the same time.
I left feeling much better about getting on with life; a good thing, too, for as individuals, or as a nation, we cannot afford to stand still too long.
October
Zealous Slacker
4 October 2001
Okay, so September wasn’t a stellar month for my dance diary. October will be better, I promise.
That may be difficult, however, as we won’t be having class this week, and I’ll be off to Europe the week after–a direct result of my Ireland trip in August. (Some of you will know what I mean; the rest will have to guess.)
And yes, I’m terrified of making the flight.
I was never too keen on flying to begin with, but back in August my only worry was physics and my absolute conviction that something as large and heavy as a Boeing 777 simply cannot float seven miles up in the air. Now I have to worry about crazed zealots flying them into buildings.
On the whole, I’m a lot more frightened of zealots than I am of physics; I used to be a zealot, I know what they are capable of.
It’s true; before I was an Irish dancer, or bagpipe player, or failed poet (like many young people, I had the fault of taking myself way too seriously), I was a religious zealot. AKA: Jesus Freak, Holy Roller, Fundamentalist, nut-burger.
All I can say is, I was young and impressionable when I allowed myself to be brainwashed into this Shake-and-Bake Charismatic cluster. At first, it wasn’t so bad; we were simply a group of teenagers learning the Bible under the tutelage of a thirty-something couple. They meant well, but as the years wore on we became more and more convinced of our rightness and, eventually, this cloistered, self-congratulatory belief system turned in on itself.
One of our beliefs involved the notion that, once you ‘found God’ (as if He was ever lost) by accepting the ‘True Religion’ (meaning, once you joined our inbred little band) and then turned away, you were much worse off than if you had simply remained a godless pagan all your life. People who turned away from The Truth had a special place reserved for them, a sort of Hell’s Hell. Think of it as moving from Wyoming to Montana.
Toward the end of my tenure, we faithful few were sitting around the fireplace in the converted barn that served as our chapel, discussing this idea. Eventually, we agreed that, if we saw someone turning toward this unfortunate state, we would be doing them a favor if we killed them before they could complete their sin, thereby saving their soul from eternal, double-dog damnation.
They all murmured and nodded in sage agreement and I thought, “My God, they’re talking about murder and they think it’s a good idea!”
And these weren’t wild-eyed, self-flagellating extremists with a 5,000-year-old ax to grind, but well-heeled, white bread teenagers living and working and going to school just like normal people, who happened to believe it was their duty to kill you for your own good when they decided you were in need of it.
The good news is, I left the cult, nobody tried to kill me, and I have first-hand knowledge of how terrifying religious zealotry can be.
So, I won’t be dancing next week, instead I’ll be in a jumbo jet somewhere over the Atlantic, praying I was booked on a non-zealot flight.
But we did dance this past Monday and, if I have to say so myself, we are, as a class, getting pretty good. We’re learning more complex steps (still nothing compared to what the Senior Class does, but we’re beyond baby-steps at least) and we’re picking them up more quickly. Personally, I’m chagrined at my lack of practice, yet encouraged by how well I’ve been holding up in class despite being a slacker.
If I can just get myself back on track, I may actually be in danger of becoming a good dancer.
England Swings . . .
9 October 2001
. . . . . . . . . like a pendulum do,
Bobbies on bicycles, two by two,
Westminster Abby, the tower Big Ben,
the rosy red cheeks of the little children.
Okay, for $500 and control of the Jeopardy board, who recorded that song?
Yep, I’m off to the UK soon, but not before getting in my full complement of dancing in this week.
With classes canceled over the holiday weekend, I went to my favorite pub on Sunday afternoon where I figured I might, per usual, get up and do a reel or two. When I got there, however, I found about a dozen young people, all in traditional Irish dance gear. I felt like I was at a feis.
Turns out it was a benefit for the [insert competitor’s name here] school of Irish Dance to raise money to send these kids to the Oireachtas in November.
In all, they did three stunning sets of dances, both figures and solos. After their first set I decided I wouldn’t be doing any dancing that evening but once the musicians started up again, I figured there was no need to be intimidated so I danced a few Reels. The kids probably thought I was nuts.
Later, I got a chance to talk to the teacher and told her I’d probably see her at the Oireachtas. “Oh really?” she says, “Who’s your child?” When I told her I didn’t have a child, she was incredulous. “You mean you’re dancing? You? Personally?”
She hadn’t been in the room to see me dance, so I don’t think this was a judgment on my talent, but rather the shock of finding an adult who dances, and is going to the Oireachtas.
Of course, I was smoking a cigar and drinking a Guinness at the time, so I doubt I fit the profile of a dedicated dancer.
Tonight, we had Oireachtas practice ourselves. We’re doing well, but it still amazes me how we collectively pant and gasp after only running through the 4-hand a single time. By the end of our practice session, we’re about dying. You would think, after having practiced so much all these weeks, that our stamina might increase a little.
Thank God we only have to do it once in Philadelphia.
But This Time I Have an Excuse
23 October 2001
It’s been a while, I know, but I was over on the other side of the Atlantic so I couldn’t very well update, could I?
All this traveling has been keeping me from practice. I hadn’t even looked at my notes in over two weeks, and then I went to class. I was hopeless; stopping, miss-stepping, obviously lost. My only consolation is, I was so chagrined I re-resolved to get some practice in this week. No, really, I will.
My Oireachtas dance is still fine, however. We get together and do that so often I don’t need to practice it on my own. Even after a two week hiatus we preformed well and needed just a bit of tweaking. One month to go.
How was my trip, you ask. Wonderful! I liked what I saw over there so much I’m going to move there next summer.
No, I’m not kidding.
Many factors went into this decision, some bigger than others. Mainly, I felt comfortable in England, as if I were coming home instead of briefly stopping at a place 3,500 miles from where I was born, grew up and lived my whole life. Everything is smaller, and older. They talk funny and the cost of living is way higher than it is here. I do have a good chance of finding a job, due to my computer skills, but I won’t earn as much as I am earning now, and my money won’t go nearly as far.
So, what, you ask, could possibly make a man leave a good-paying, secure job and a very comfortable way of life and move to a foreign country? The answer, I believe, is screamingly obvious.
My impending change of life may be sapping much of my creative energy, but I think there is potential motivation here. This will be my last year, and my last Recital, with the Boland School, so I want to go out on a good note. That should be enough to put me back on a regular practice regiment. In between filling out immigration forms.
November
Back in the Swing
10 November 2001
Autumn has arrived and with it, the cold weather that keeps me indoors. In my annual, futile effort to ward off cabin fever, I have been favoring activities which keep my mind and body occupied. Dance practice is a prime example. Unfortunately, autumn also brings with it, ‘cold season’ and I was uncharacteristically caught in it this year. That’s been cutting into my desire to dance a bit.
It’s not so bad, really, just a mild sniffle and cough. It is actually interfering with my piping more than my dancing since huffing into the pipes tends to bring on coughing fits. Practicing my steps simply makes me tired, so I just rest more often.
Old age must have caught up with me. My usual routine of learning a step or two at class, then going home and writing it out has not been working quite so well this year. More often than not, I find I can’t recall the steps correctly by the time I get home. So now it’s taking me two or three classes to get the steps correct. I really need to either start paying closer attention or bring my notebook into class.
All this practicing and coughing and preparing for the big competition and prepping for my move has cut into my dance diary updating. I’ll try to be more conscientious in the future. With the Philadelphia trip coming up, I’m certain there will be lots of news, so stay tuned.
I have also been recently reminded that there are more fans of my dance diary in Europe than there are in the US, so this UK move may have more side effects than I originally thought. I had assumed I wouldn’t be able to dance as much once I got to England, but there seems to be potential for a European Irish Dance Tour. Could be interesting.
Traveling Man
19 November 2001
I’m sitting here, sweaty, and winded from my dance class, wondering which was more humiliating, the past hour, or the hour I spent with my bagpipe teacher earlier this afternoon.
I missed classes last week because I was in Montreal, Canada with my youngest son, LCPL Mitch, USMC. After that, I was at a technology convention, which left Saturday and most of Sunday (we had Oireachtas practice in the afternoon) to divide between housework, shopping, piping practice and dance. All four activities got short shifted, and I ended up a lot less polished than I was two weeks ago.
I might have looked like an idiot at classes today, but Montreal was worth it.
The trip was a bit of a whim; the boy was home on a 20 day leave before shipping out to Okinawa, so we thought we’d do something together.
I found and booked our hotel via an Internet search based solely on my son’s recommendation that “St. Catherine’s Street was the place to be” and my own desire to get out of this as cheaply as possible. In retrospect, those are not two criteria one should be mixing together. Not surprisingly, once we arrived, we found ourselves dodging panhandlers, squeegee persons (the ones I saw were female), destitute students sleeping on the sidewalk and, of course, hookers.
On the other hand, bearing in mind I randomly selected this hotel based on such specious criteria, I don’t think we fared too badly. There was a security door, and the young desk clerk was polite and helpful and had a fairly keen grasp of the English language. Our room was clean though sparsely furnished, but it did have a TV. We each claimed a bed, stashed our stuff and were heading back to the street, congratulating ourselves on scoring some fine, cheap accommodations when Mitch pointed out there was no bathroom in the room.
That’s right. Along the hotel’s rambling and well-traveled corridors were communal {insert French work for ‘bathrooms’ here}. There wasn’t even a sign on them that we could translate to ‘Men’ or “Women.” Apparently, it didn’t matter. But they were clean, and spacious and had modern fixtures and sturdy locks on the doors.
“It’s like camping,” Mitch observed. And, indeed, it was. And since the only other denizens of the Hotel Abri Du Voyageur all appeared to be young women (I think I saw some of them working the corners later that evening) I didn’t figure we had much to be concerned about.
We then went in search of a bar that would take MasterCard. We never found one. A bar, I mean. All there seemed to be for block after block were strip clubs. We finally went back to the Hotel and asked the desk clerk, “Are there any bars around here that don’t have naked women swinging from poles in them?” She directed us to an area about 10 blocks away where she said there were some well-known Irish pubs.
After a brisk walk, we ended up at “The Claddagh,” a nice Irish pub with a healthy selection of Irish beers, friendly (and fully clothed) staff, good atmosphere and some of the best Irish stew this side of Galway. We had a great time meeting other people, mostly from the US, and chatting with the bartender. I sang a little, but didn’t do any dancing or piping.
Consequently, I forgot most of the dances we have been taught since the beginning of this year, and completely missed learning a really cool Treble Jig.
Looks like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and I’ve got another trip coming up this week. On Wednesday, I leave for Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving at my cousin’s, and then it’s on the Philadelphia for the Oireacthas. I’ll probably forget everything I learned today by the time I get to my next class.
I should be back up to par in a few weeks, just in time for my trip to England.
Food and drink — $115 (Canadian)
Spending the weekend with your youngest
son in the red-light district of a foreign city – Priceless
* About $14 US
Triumphal Return
25 November 2001
Oireachtas Report: We came, we saw, we kicked some ass!
Okay, here’s the longer version.
The Oireachtas was a hoot, let me say that up front. Two entire hotels completely taken over by Irish Dancers for the whole post-Thanksgiving Day weekend. It was quite a sight, with curly hair and colorful dresses everywhere you turned. The Marriott, where the actual competitions were being held, was a complete madhouse, but that’s business as usual for these types of things.
This super-feis might have almost seemed routine were it not for one thing; I got a serious case of stage fright.
For all other competitions, recitals and performances (even that big, scary one with the Chieftains at Proctor’s Theatre), I never felt anything but calm. Here, in Philadelphia, after running through the dance a final few times on Friday night, I began to get very nervous. I actually had nightmares that night, and woke up so tired I was forced to take a nap before getting ready for the competition on Saturday afternoon.
I arrived at the stage as prepared as I have ever been–I had eaten a light meal, I had my water bottle with me, I was well rested, and I even had my lucky underwear on. Still, I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up.
That lasted until we actually got on stage and the music began. Once that happened, the 10 months of training and drilling (thank you, Jen!) kicked in and I went on auto-pilot. As usual, the noise, the crowd, the music, the other dancers all faded into a soundless blur and there was nothing but the dance. We did it well, without any major screw ups, and felt good about it once it was over.
For group dances, the results were posted and only those teams listed needed to come to the awards ceremony. Our team was listed! We went to the ceremony (a feat in and of itself, but you really had to be there to appreciate it) and waited.
When they called our competition, we were awarded 3rd place. We were thrilled by this, as it was our first Oireachtas and we had, on occasion, been very discouraged at our prospects. To return, placing in the top three, was a huge success.
December
And You Thought This Was Easy
4 December 2001
Once again, I suffered the indignities of having my butt kicked at both piping class and dance class in the same day. I’ve got to do something about this schedule. For those of you wondering at the rigors of an Irish Dance class, allow me to demonstrate:
Class: (huff, puff)
Jen: Okay, that wasn’t too bad. Seven more times.
Class: (groan)
Jen: (After the 4th time) You messed that one up! That one doesn’t count! Six more times!
Class: (gasp, groan)
Jen: (After seven more times) You’re doing great! Okay, last time. I promise.
Jen: (After two more times) Okay, that’s enough. Do you want to try it to faster music now?
Class: No!
Jen: Okay, just twice more to faster music.
Class: (huff, gasp, groan)
Jan: (After two times) You did okay. Just two more times now, I promise . . .
The classes are always that way, but last night we only had a few people there, so we were all, always on. Usually, some of us get to rest while the others step out two or three at a time to run through the step “just one more time.”
The other problem with so few students was the ceili dance at the end of class. We have been working on it all year and have it down fairly well, but last night, since no one had their regular partner, and the circle was so small, it played less like a ceili and more like an experiment in random motion. The best part was the ‘sides under arms.’ Since no one was certain if they were a side or not, it turned into a game of ‘couples chicken.’
All in all, I’ve had better nights, but hardly any as strenuous.
One for the Road
16 December 2001
Once more, here I am, packing instead of practicing.
This time I’ll be gone a total of ten days, and I doubt I’ll be getting much practice in. This means, of course, that I’ll be certain to remain out of shape during the lengthy Christmas break.
During the last class, I felt like I was playing that old children’s game, “Simon.” It was a little wheel with colored lights on it. The lights would light up in a certain sequence, and you had to press the lights in the same sequence. As you played, the sequence would keep getting longer and longer.
Jen: Okay, three shuffles.
Class: < Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle>
Jen: Now three shuffles and a heel, toe, shuffle-back.
Class: <Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, click, thump, shuffle, stomp>
Jen: Now three shuffles and a heel, toe, shuffle-back, over the fence.
Class: <Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, click, thump, shuffle, stomp, jump step step>
Jen: Now three shuffles and a heel, toe, shuffle-back, over the fence, step, hop, heel, over, down.
Class: <Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, click, thump, shuffle, stomp, click, step, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, mumble, mumble . . .>
Anyway, that’s how it felt. And that’s how it’s likely to be when I return.
Until then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
Official Announcement
30 December 2001
Okay, I’m back. Here’s the skinny.
I’ve been beating around the bush concerning this topic but now things are finally settled, and a definite plan of action has been decided upon so it’s time to make the official announcement.
I’m moving to England to marry the woman I met while on vacation in Ireland.
I’m sure this all seems rather sudden and, perhaps, a bit impetuous. It does to us, as well, but it also seems right, so we are going ahead with it.
We plan on being married in a small, civil ceremony sometime during my next visit, after which we can begin the process of obtaining my entry visa. If all goes well, I’ll be moving to the UK for good at the end of May.
What does this have to do with Irish Dance? Well, nothing, and everything.
It will mean the end of Irish Dance as I know it, as I will, obviously, no longer be able to take lessons at the Boland School. Will I continue to dance after I move? I’d like to say I will, but I highly doubt it. I think I’ll always keep a Reel or two polished up just in case, but formal lessons will be the last thing on my mind, as getting a job and finding a place to live will probably take precedence.
I will always maintain an interest in Irish Dance, and will be forever grateful that, in no small way, it was responsible for my meeting my future wife. If I hadn’t been so involved in the Celtic culture, I doubt I would have decided to visit Ireland, and my fiancée and I would never have met.
Originally, I had planned to finish out the dance season, but things are beginning to roll ahead more quickly now and, as much as I enjoy the dance, I believe getting on with my new life is more important than participating in The Recital. I will, however, continue classes up until I leave.
And what about these pages? Well, I can’t continue to post updates on my progress as an Irish Dancer, so these entries will, eventually, stop. But I already have plans for a more generalized journal, chronicling my adventures in a foreign land. I’m calling it “Postcards From Across The Pond” and it will be replacing the Lindenwald homepage soon. The Irish Dance pages will remain where they are.
Have a Happy New Year; see you in 2002!