12 November 2011

saturday night

and my feet are cold. but there's a fire burning in the fireplace, first one of the season. I don't know when it happened but the record player blew a speaker. stevie wonder now sings at me through a tiny fuzzy megaphone but I listen anyway. I turn the record over and lower the needle, adjust the volume. the house smells like wood and smoke and it is maybe the best smell in the world. which is when my mind turns to list making. list number thirty-eight: best smells in the world. but before my mind can settle, it spins off in another direction. and another and another and another. I am full of ideas tonight. but I am also full of pessimism. the kind that sits in a stiff, sour place and will not budge.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night. we'd fallen asleep on the big green couch. again. with all the lights on, television on, legs uncomfortably intertwined. what I am going to tell you now is that the television was turned to PBS. and I am all for PBS, I love PBS but I can't imagine what we could have possibly been watching on public television on a friday night before we drifted off. we are almost always watching reruns of seinfeld. anyway. american masters with bill t. jones was on and I forced my sleepy eyes open because this what I would call luck. I am a big fan of mr. jones. I was pretty out of it but at three in the morning, I listened to him talk about abraham lincoln, watched him yell at dancers, then at musicians, watched him push and pull new work into place. and I wanted to cry because this is a world that I miss. I miss dance, I miss that sweaty, messy place. I miss class, I miss rehearsals, I miss choreographers. I miss my old body. I miss my old body so much. the credits rolled just then and I turned the channel. and then I fixed myself a bowl of cereal because I didn't want to think about it anymore.

we will probably fall asleep on the big green couch again tonight. to the sounds of the television, the dying of the first fire.


  1. i know how you feel sweets. i miss dancing too...(i actually CAN'T dance as i used to, because of a neck injury...i can sort of flit around but it isn't the same). know what i noticed the other day? my foot bottoms are SOFT. i loathe them.
    if you ever want to chat, just e-mail me: b_maria_why@yahoo.com

  2. Your photos are always lovely but I could read your posts day after day. I love the way you write.

    I think dance is one of those things that when you stop the love never goes away. Don't get me wrong, I love photography (it's unconditional) but dance... it's true love (and I was terrible at it- no discipline whatsoever but I still have an ache in my heart for my dancing years).

  3. Such a sad post...

    I agree. Burning wood is possibly my favourite smell. I get a lovely waft of it, if I'm lucky, when I walk past the narrow boats on the way to work.

  4. For me it's not dance, but I know just what you mean. Trying to find my way back too. (Is it possible? I don't know, but I have to keep trying.) Here's to sooner rather than later.

  5. I heard a cool message about faith today and how it's essentially different for everyone. That having faith means searching and at times finding your own personal truth. I'm not sure what this has to do with your feelings about dance, it was just on my mind....

    Here's to watching t.v. on the couch!


  6. I just have to say I love your writing. You capture that restless mind feeling perfectly.

    Have a good week :)

  7. Earlier this year I went through a period of grief - heart-wrenching, gut-twisting grief for the girl/woman I used to be. I've stopped wondering where she went, but my current mission is to re-discover the things she embraced. xx

  8. Wood burning, winter fire smoke, fireplace. Definitely the best ever. In my hood - early morning smoke floating on the misty canal, and a trace of coffee brewing in the depths of a barge. I miss those early morning canalside walks.
    For you, lovely post writer and photographer, I have a wish: A 5rhythms class in a friendly, softly lit studio within biking distance of your house.

  9. I dance once a week but I miss the days I could go as often as I wanted, money allowing, because I lived close by and not an hour away so I wasn't gone ALL DAY before getting home at 9:00 with no dinner made, chores not done, and too tired to get everything ready for the next day. I miss those days. I also miss the days I could dance whenever I want without getting sore! = )