Los Angeles, California
My mom's retina continued to fray after the surgery. There had simply been too much damage done by the shingles virus which had run rampant in her eye for six weeks before she started treatment for it. The rehab facility had never diagnosed it. They were too busy bringing in all kinds of specialists who could get a slice of her Medicare pie. You learn a lot through a process like this, including cynicism about it…
Ultimately, we opted not to put her through another surgery. It would only improve her vision from being able to see a hand waving in front of her face to being able to count fingers in front of her face. She would not be able to read. The two facilitators at the board and care, whom I trusted a lot, and the doctor supported this decision, as did Billy. My sister was not consulted, as she has not been in the loop on Mom's medical care since she opted out in 2009.
Along with the change in my mom's condition, upheaval is afoot all around me. Autumn is now here, and I am predictably mourning the loss of summer. This is something I always do, but even more so now that I don't really look forward to the holidays, and especially this year with Todd and Christopher taking a South American cruise instead of renting the house in Carmel as they have done for the past two years. Still, we will return to Carmel just before Christmas for our last stay at Casita de la Mar. Another chapter closing...
There have been so many closings and endings of late, or at the very least, upheavals: the demise of my family; Sandra's illness; the disappearance of my sister at a time when her support was needed in the care of my mom; the destruction of the Kona Village Resort, and the soon-to-be loss of our rental in Carmel. In so many ways I feel adrift, looking about for anything to hold onto, to keep me afloat, while I scan the horizon for land. And maybe that's a way-too-cheesy metaphor, but still, it feels that way to me.
Perhaps what is hopeful is my ability to scan the horizon. I am fortunate that I have sight, and even, on the odd occasion, insight. So while I have seen much of what sustained me in my life sink to the sandy bottom, I am still looking for what can buoy me up in my future. I have always been someone who held fast to traditions, but as those traditions have evanesced, and in some cases, disapparated, what will replace them? I know I am fortunate. I have Billy. I have LOL, and other friends, I have salsa dance, and the circle I know within the salsa community. And finding salsa was truly finding my bliss. Still, these days, as I look about for meaning in my life, I admit that sometimes my eyes fail me. That is when I remind myself of that old adage that there are none so blind as those who will not see. It's just that when you are trying to see from under water, everything can look a bit, well, blurry. Still, I know that my sight will adjust. Alas, my mom is not so lucky. . .Thank you for reading my blog while I am treading water.
Showing posts with label salsa dance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label salsa dance. Show all posts
October 5, 2013
June 20, 2011
Why We Dance
Los Angeles, California
I have been reminded by some that I was supposed to be writing posts about three things. What happened to the other two things? These being the three things that provide bliss in my life. Well, a recent post was about my blog, so, in essence, it was about writing. Writing about writing is a rather tricky endeavor, and frankly, better done by many others, as what do I know anyway? And, even if I'm not writing much about writing, I have been writing a lot, as evidenced by the number of posts on my blog the count of which, I believe with this post, is hovering around fifty. I've also been writing a lot about cooking, at least to the extent of including a recipe in every other post, more or less. But, it's true, we haven't revisited salsa lately.
Salsa. Again -- not that stuff made by chopping tomatoes for a start. Salsa is dance. Now, if any of you out there are watching Dancing with the Stars or So You Think You Can Dance or any other reality dance show, let me say this about that. It's not what I am doing. There is no glitter. There is no pointing except a modified position of foot. There is not all that audience NOISE. I finally did watch one of these shows after someone nagged me about it relentlessly (I can't remember which one, and why would that matter?). I made it through to the end, though I thought it was awful. But I know they are very popular, as are other reality shows so let's not get me started on the inanities of popular culture.
Anyway, I suppose I should come clean and point out some similarities between the dance reality show world and my salsa world: there ARE spike heels out there in both. I can attest to that, because I've had my foot, and recently, one of my toes, punctured by them. Generally I would say that the impracticality of the heel pretty much goes in inverse proportion to the skill of the dancer. Chita Rivera excepted.
So, salsa. Not the tomato stuff, nor the stuff of reality shows. More like Dance at the Gym from West Side Story, but less choreographed and usually with less colorful dress. And, in order to do this properly, I'll provide a little history. Salsa owes its origins to the Afro-Cuban culture. It's heritage came from both the African dance and rhythms, brought to the Caribbean during the time of slave trade, and the Colonial Spanish "courtly" dances. The resulting mosaic of these dances created, voila, a new dance.
Popularized in the US in the fifties during the mambo craze, it pretty much hung around through Rosemary Clooney and Desi Arnaz and Perez Prado, before tapering off as other dance modes came and went. I don't know where Latin dance was during the mid- to late sixties, when the element of touch and leading pretty much disappeared, and dance became more or less freestyle. And then came: disco. During the disco era, the mambo became further stylized, and salsa was born. Today, we dance cha cha cha, and bachata (once touted as the forbidden dance as it can be danced very closely, or as Groucho Marx once said, If I was any closer, I'd be behind you . . .), and we throw in a little merengue, a little cumbia, and even a dash of reggaeton (which is a musical mix of latin and hip-hop rarely danced to well by people over forty). Again with the voila! You now have the repertoire of an average night at an LA salsa club.
A month or so back, I came off of the dance floor at a local club, and a woman, who I would guess was in her forties, said to me "You're such a good dancer." Now, that's always gratifying and, frankly, surprising to hear. Because, I never feel that I am, as it wasn't that long ago (about six years it was) that I was a rank beginner and suffered the indignities of learning to dance salsa (less indignity than when I learned to play golf, but that's another post available here, you know the drill). Not that most of the better dancers weren't kind. The ones who danced with me were usually patient and instructive, but not always. I recall telling a man who had asked me to dance that I was a beginner, and he turned on his heel and walked away. I clearly remember, when I was inching up on intermediate status, dancing with someone who obviously HAD been watching one of those reality dance shows, as was displayed in the wild movements of his arms and upper body. He had evidently never concentrated on actually learning to lead. As a result his lead was flabby and ambiguous, which made it hard to follow. At one point, he fixed me with a glare and exclaimed, Why aren't you getting this? One of my salsera friends, Samantha, once confided what she says to partners like this: You're the one who's leading. I'm only going where you lead me. But regardless of a ready retort, a dance with that kind of a partner can seem like the longest dance of your life.
A good leader can make even a beginning dancer look good. The challenge to the beginner, and the continuing challenge to me, is to give up control. To RELAX. To allow your body to engage in the dialog of the movement. But dancing with a better dancer than yourself helps a lot. When I was beginning, one of those better dancers was Alvin. Alvin asked me to dance one of the first times I came out to take class. He helped me a lot, encouraging me and teaching me combinations and moves. He told me to try to dance with partners who were at a more advanced level than me. That's how you'll get better, he said, adding, It's like tennis. I love Alvin. He is a fixture in the LA salsa community, and a wonderful man. He met Billy once at a salsa function, and he always asks after him. He also always says: I have a message for that husband of yours. You tell him HE'S LUCK-Y! He says this to all of us married salseras. But the truth is, that we are the lucky ones. We're all exceedingly fortunate to have found something for which we have a passion, and which has planted us in a warm community of fellow addicts.
Some of my civilian (non-salsera) girlfriends have remarked that their husbands would never let them go out and dance salsa. I appreciate that Billy doesn't think that way. This might have something to do with the fact that I had been belly dancing for a couple of years when he met me (though not performing belly dance). And he knew that I had taken a lot of folk dance when I was in college. So he knew from the get-go that dance was important in my life. While I replaced dance with aerobics for about a decade of our marriage, he has always known that I am a dancer at heart. And he has always assured me that he's fine with my dancing (further, friends have confided to me that, when I'm not around, he brags about what a good dancer I am and how sweet is that?). But he has also explained to me that if, for some reason, it bothered him that I dance, he still would never attempt to thwart me because he can see how much I love it. He's been known to send me out dancing when he can see I am saddened, and dragged down by my care for my mother. And out I go. Luckily, since Billy doesn't dance much and doesn't go with me very often, I have some regular partners who I suspect make me look good on the dance floor -- especially to beginners like that woman last month. I watched her dance with one of my partners, and he was gentle and easy with her. She was definitely a novice, with a long road ahead of her to get comfortable on the dance floor. I've seen so many people come and go, but the ones who stay with it usually do become proficient. And they have that salsa light in their eyes. You just know they are hooked, and that they will stick around. They simply must.
There is, on occasion, a different look in our eyes even in the midst of the joy of an evening of salsa. We will confide, in snippets of conversation as we pass each other going on and off the floor, that life is hard at the moment. People have financial issues, family issues, work issues. But, as my salsera friend, Karen, said to me recently, when I asked her for an update on her life and she stated that things were now worse -- but, that's why we dance, isn't it?
She's right. Though, in analyzing why I dance, I have to say that a large part of what brings me back to dance again and again, is the quest, occasionally realized, for the perfect moment. That moment when everything comes together, and you know that for that time, fleeting though it is, what you are experiencing is as if you are in symbiotic sync with the universe. Or, again, as F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, Everything goes all glimmering. It is a high that I first experienced as a young figure skater. But I don't have to be skating or dancing for it to happen. I've experienced it at concerts, on vacations, driving, watching a sunset or a sky brilliant with stars. But the truth is that as life goes on and you get weighed down by the burden of it, these moments arrive with less and less regularity. When I go out to dance, I know that the potential is there. It doesn't happen every time, nor even every other. But sometimes it does. The music, the movement, the feeling of flying -- it all comes together and for that moment, all of life's problems are gone. Disapparated. I experience a moment of weightlessness, suspended above life's problems and travails, in perfect bliss. And that, my friends, is why I dance. And why I will continue to put on my dancing shoes until the day comes when I no longer can. Thanks for reading my blog (salseros especially -- see you on the dance floor!).
I have been reminded by some that I was supposed to be writing posts about three things. What happened to the other two things? These being the three things that provide bliss in my life. Well, a recent post was about my blog, so, in essence, it was about writing. Writing about writing is a rather tricky endeavor, and frankly, better done by many others, as what do I know anyway? And, even if I'm not writing much about writing, I have been writing a lot, as evidenced by the number of posts on my blog the count of which, I believe with this post, is hovering around fifty. I've also been writing a lot about cooking, at least to the extent of including a recipe in every other post, more or less. But, it's true, we haven't revisited salsa lately.
Salsa. Again -- not that stuff made by chopping tomatoes for a start. Salsa is dance. Now, if any of you out there are watching Dancing with the Stars or So You Think You Can Dance or any other reality dance show, let me say this about that. It's not what I am doing. There is no glitter. There is no pointing except a modified position of foot. There is not all that audience NOISE. I finally did watch one of these shows after someone nagged me about it relentlessly (I can't remember which one, and why would that matter?). I made it through to the end, though I thought it was awful. But I know they are very popular, as are other reality shows so let's not get me started on the inanities of popular culture.
Anyway, I suppose I should come clean and point out some similarities between the dance reality show world and my salsa world: there ARE spike heels out there in both. I can attest to that, because I've had my foot, and recently, one of my toes, punctured by them. Generally I would say that the impracticality of the heel pretty much goes in inverse proportion to the skill of the dancer. Chita Rivera excepted.
So, salsa. Not the tomato stuff, nor the stuff of reality shows. More like Dance at the Gym from West Side Story, but less choreographed and usually with less colorful dress. And, in order to do this properly, I'll provide a little history. Salsa owes its origins to the Afro-Cuban culture. It's heritage came from both the African dance and rhythms, brought to the Caribbean during the time of slave trade, and the Colonial Spanish "courtly" dances. The resulting mosaic of these dances created, voila, a new dance.
Popularized in the US in the fifties during the mambo craze, it pretty much hung around through Rosemary Clooney and Desi Arnaz and Perez Prado, before tapering off as other dance modes came and went. I don't know where Latin dance was during the mid- to late sixties, when the element of touch and leading pretty much disappeared, and dance became more or less freestyle. And then came: disco. During the disco era, the mambo became further stylized, and salsa was born. Today, we dance cha cha cha, and bachata (once touted as the forbidden dance as it can be danced very closely, or as Groucho Marx once said, If I was any closer, I'd be behind you . . .), and we throw in a little merengue, a little cumbia, and even a dash of reggaeton (which is a musical mix of latin and hip-hop rarely danced to well by people over forty). Again with the voila! You now have the repertoire of an average night at an LA salsa club.
A month or so back, I came off of the dance floor at a local club, and a woman, who I would guess was in her forties, said to me "You're such a good dancer." Now, that's always gratifying and, frankly, surprising to hear. Because, I never feel that I am, as it wasn't that long ago (about six years it was) that I was a rank beginner and suffered the indignities of learning to dance salsa (less indignity than when I learned to play golf, but that's another post available here, you know the drill). Not that most of the better dancers weren't kind. The ones who danced with me were usually patient and instructive, but not always. I recall telling a man who had asked me to dance that I was a beginner, and he turned on his heel and walked away. I clearly remember, when I was inching up on intermediate status, dancing with someone who obviously HAD been watching one of those reality dance shows, as was displayed in the wild movements of his arms and upper body. He had evidently never concentrated on actually learning to lead. As a result his lead was flabby and ambiguous, which made it hard to follow. At one point, he fixed me with a glare and exclaimed, Why aren't you getting this? One of my salsera friends, Samantha, once confided what she says to partners like this: You're the one who's leading. I'm only going where you lead me. But regardless of a ready retort, a dance with that kind of a partner can seem like the longest dance of your life.
A good leader can make even a beginning dancer look good. The challenge to the beginner, and the continuing challenge to me, is to give up control. To RELAX. To allow your body to engage in the dialog of the movement. But dancing with a better dancer than yourself helps a lot. When I was beginning, one of those better dancers was Alvin. Alvin asked me to dance one of the first times I came out to take class. He helped me a lot, encouraging me and teaching me combinations and moves. He told me to try to dance with partners who were at a more advanced level than me. That's how you'll get better, he said, adding, It's like tennis. I love Alvin. He is a fixture in the LA salsa community, and a wonderful man. He met Billy once at a salsa function, and he always asks after him. He also always says: I have a message for that husband of yours. You tell him HE'S LUCK-Y! He says this to all of us married salseras. But the truth is, that we are the lucky ones. We're all exceedingly fortunate to have found something for which we have a passion, and which has planted us in a warm community of fellow addicts.
Some of my civilian (non-salsera) girlfriends have remarked that their husbands would never let them go out and dance salsa. I appreciate that Billy doesn't think that way. This might have something to do with the fact that I had been belly dancing for a couple of years when he met me (though not performing belly dance). And he knew that I had taken a lot of folk dance when I was in college. So he knew from the get-go that dance was important in my life. While I replaced dance with aerobics for about a decade of our marriage, he has always known that I am a dancer at heart. And he has always assured me that he's fine with my dancing (further, friends have confided to me that, when I'm not around, he brags about what a good dancer I am and how sweet is that?). But he has also explained to me that if, for some reason, it bothered him that I dance, he still would never attempt to thwart me because he can see how much I love it. He's been known to send me out dancing when he can see I am saddened, and dragged down by my care for my mother. And out I go. Luckily, since Billy doesn't dance much and doesn't go with me very often, I have some regular partners who I suspect make me look good on the dance floor -- especially to beginners like that woman last month. I watched her dance with one of my partners, and he was gentle and easy with her. She was definitely a novice, with a long road ahead of her to get comfortable on the dance floor. I've seen so many people come and go, but the ones who stay with it usually do become proficient. And they have that salsa light in their eyes. You just know they are hooked, and that they will stick around. They simply must.
There is, on occasion, a different look in our eyes even in the midst of the joy of an evening of salsa. We will confide, in snippets of conversation as we pass each other going on and off the floor, that life is hard at the moment. People have financial issues, family issues, work issues. But, as my salsera friend, Karen, said to me recently, when I asked her for an update on her life and she stated that things were now worse -- but, that's why we dance, isn't it?
She's right. Though, in analyzing why I dance, I have to say that a large part of what brings me back to dance again and again, is the quest, occasionally realized, for the perfect moment. That moment when everything comes together, and you know that for that time, fleeting though it is, what you are experiencing is as if you are in symbiotic sync with the universe. Or, again, as F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, Everything goes all glimmering. It is a high that I first experienced as a young figure skater. But I don't have to be skating or dancing for it to happen. I've experienced it at concerts, on vacations, driving, watching a sunset or a sky brilliant with stars. But the truth is that as life goes on and you get weighed down by the burden of it, these moments arrive with less and less regularity. When I go out to dance, I know that the potential is there. It doesn't happen every time, nor even every other. But sometimes it does. The music, the movement, the feeling of flying -- it all comes together and for that moment, all of life's problems are gone. Disapparated. I experience a moment of weightlessness, suspended above life's problems and travails, in perfect bliss. And that, my friends, is why I dance. And why I will continue to put on my dancing shoes until the day comes when I no longer can. Thanks for reading my blog (salseros especially -- see you on the dance floor!).
May 6, 2010
Salsa
Los Angeles, California
Way back in the very beginning of time, I mentioned that I had come up with a brilliant idea that everyone should have three things in their life which they are passionate about. Remember? Right away, I wrote about one of my passions, which is writing. And quite soon after, I revealed that behind door number two was: cooking. And now, friends and neighbors, it is time to reveal the final trump card in my life. My final lifeline which, along with its two sisters, keeps my soul nourished. And that is salsa.
Now, you might be thinking that salsa is that thing that you can make by chopping up tomatoes, for a start. More cooking, you're thinking, and what's new and different about that? But no. Salsa is dance. And I could leave it at that, because for me . . . salsa is dance, full stop. Of course, there is a lot of dance out there. A friend of mine has a modern dance company. And, I once saw Baryshnikov dance with the American Ballet Theatre. And, stretching back into my past, there has almost always been dance in my life. Everything except tap: ballet; jazz; folk; belly (yes, belly); and finally, salsa.
I have a friend, Kim, who is a really, really good salsa dancer. Well, she's just a fine dancer, period. She was a Thriller creature -- you know, in the Michael Jackson video, but that's another post. Or not. Anyway, Kim, taught me the basic, non-partnered salsa steps some years back. And I took classes with her that were based on salsa -- salsa aerobics, and a salsa/jazz dance class, for example. But it took me about a decade to take the next step - to learn to dance with partners.
Then, in the summer of 2005, we were visiting friends in Sonoma County, California. They took a group of us out to a Greek restaurant. We ended up dancing, in a line, Greek-style (you know . . . after a shot or two of ouzo). I felt so joyful, so full of joy, that I came away from that night thinking that life was too short to miss out on dancing. I realized, once again, that I had to have dance in my life. I needed, I lusted after, a steady diet of dance starting right then. But what kind of dancing would I do? I didn't want to take formal classes -- I mostly just wanted to go somewhere and dance, like we had at the Greek restaurant. But back home, Greek dancing was out -- it was just too hard to find it on a regular basis in LA. But salsa . . . salsa was out there.
My pilates instructor at the time, Lisa, had begun salsa dancing and told me about a club that was in my neighborhood. It was called Rio. And it was there that I took my first class in partner-led salsa dance, taught by an instructor named Laura Canellias. My friend, Cindy, came with me. I was hooked after my first class. Cin said she was too, but in retrospect she was not so much. She made plans to go with me again, and canceled. Plans made again, and once more canceled. I finally realized that if I really wanted to learn salsa, I would have to go it alone. So I did.
Learning salsa was challenging. My feet could already move well, and I had a frame that was adequate. But the experience in class of partnering -- literally being held in the arms, albeit not closely, of strangers of that other gender -- well, that ran the gamut of emotions from shyly uneasy to feeling the downright nervous ickiness that I felt as a fifth grader at cotillion dance class. And, just like in that experience, once again I was taller than a lot of the guys.
While trying to adequately acquire this skill of partner-led salsa dance, there were some disasterous moments. When I told one man, who had asked me to dance, that I was a beginner, he turned on his heel and walked away! And there was that shocking dance with Walter (who later turned out to be a favorite -- a true blast as a partner), when he bent my back across his knees and played my torso like congas . . . I'm not making this up. But, even in those first few months, I could have a dance experience that went, as F. Scott Fitzgerald would say, all glimmering. Those precious seconds when you feel like you're flying with none of the attendant dangers of sky-diving or bungee cord-jumping. Moments when the movement, the music, and the magic came together in divine symbiosis.
I've now been dancing for almost five years, and I could probably go to any club in the greater Los Angeles area, and know someone from the LA salsa community. We are a tight-knit and supportive group, and we can literally dance the night away. I suspect that for many of us, life and love may come and go, but salsa goes on. And our community is part of the beauty of that. Right now I am learning salsa rueda which is a Cuban-style street dance, done in a circle or wheel (rueda). It is 'called' like square dance, and you change partners as you move around the circle. It is fun. One of the great things about salsa is that there are various dances with origins in distinctly different places in Latin-America. As you learn more, you can acquire different layers of nuance which, when interwoven, will make you into a distinctively-styled dancer. In the dance, everyone is unique. Like snowflakes, or butterfly wings.
But the best part of it is that I have learned to dance in the face of . . . whatever. Billy doesn't dance much (our agreement is that he knows enough to dance once with me if salsa is played at a wedding or what have you). But he understands that dancing brings me bliss, and a centering comfort that is necessary to my well-being. He supports me, and I am so grateful to him for this. For, in the last analysis, after the bliss of dancing, I come home to Billy, who holds a space in my heart greater than any other interest I may ever have. But I also think that he appreciates me for who I am, and a large part of that is that I am now a salsera. And that doesn't mean that I make that stuff with the chopped tomatoes. Though, truth be told, I can do that as well. Just not in the same shoes. Thanks for reading my blog.
Way back in the very beginning of time, I mentioned that I had come up with a brilliant idea that everyone should have three things in their life which they are passionate about. Remember? Right away, I wrote about one of my passions, which is writing. And quite soon after, I revealed that behind door number two was: cooking. And now, friends and neighbors, it is time to reveal the final trump card in my life. My final lifeline which, along with its two sisters, keeps my soul nourished. And that is salsa.
Now, you might be thinking that salsa is that thing that you can make by chopping up tomatoes, for a start. More cooking, you're thinking, and what's new and different about that? But no. Salsa is dance. And I could leave it at that, because for me . . . salsa is dance, full stop. Of course, there is a lot of dance out there. A friend of mine has a modern dance company. And, I once saw Baryshnikov dance with the American Ballet Theatre. And, stretching back into my past, there has almost always been dance in my life. Everything except tap: ballet; jazz; folk; belly (yes, belly); and finally, salsa.
I have a friend, Kim, who is a really, really good salsa dancer. Well, she's just a fine dancer, period. She was a Thriller creature -- you know, in the Michael Jackson video, but that's another post. Or not. Anyway, Kim, taught me the basic, non-partnered salsa steps some years back. And I took classes with her that were based on salsa -- salsa aerobics, and a salsa/jazz dance class, for example. But it took me about a decade to take the next step - to learn to dance with partners.
Then, in the summer of 2005, we were visiting friends in Sonoma County, California. They took a group of us out to a Greek restaurant. We ended up dancing, in a line, Greek-style (you know . . . after a shot or two of ouzo). I felt so joyful, so full of joy, that I came away from that night thinking that life was too short to miss out on dancing. I realized, once again, that I had to have dance in my life. I needed, I lusted after, a steady diet of dance starting right then. But what kind of dancing would I do? I didn't want to take formal classes -- I mostly just wanted to go somewhere and dance, like we had at the Greek restaurant. But back home, Greek dancing was out -- it was just too hard to find it on a regular basis in LA. But salsa . . . salsa was out there.
My pilates instructor at the time, Lisa, had begun salsa dancing and told me about a club that was in my neighborhood. It was called Rio. And it was there that I took my first class in partner-led salsa dance, taught by an instructor named Laura Canellias. My friend, Cindy, came with me. I was hooked after my first class. Cin said she was too, but in retrospect she was not so much. She made plans to go with me again, and canceled. Plans made again, and once more canceled. I finally realized that if I really wanted to learn salsa, I would have to go it alone. So I did.
Learning salsa was challenging. My feet could already move well, and I had a frame that was adequate. But the experience in class of partnering -- literally being held in the arms, albeit not closely, of strangers of that other gender -- well, that ran the gamut of emotions from shyly uneasy to feeling the downright nervous ickiness that I felt as a fifth grader at cotillion dance class. And, just like in that experience, once again I was taller than a lot of the guys.
While trying to adequately acquire this skill of partner-led salsa dance, there were some disasterous moments. When I told one man, who had asked me to dance, that I was a beginner, he turned on his heel and walked away! And there was that shocking dance with Walter (who later turned out to be a favorite -- a true blast as a partner), when he bent my back across his knees and played my torso like congas . . . I'm not making this up. But, even in those first few months, I could have a dance experience that went, as F. Scott Fitzgerald would say, all glimmering. Those precious seconds when you feel like you're flying with none of the attendant dangers of sky-diving or bungee cord-jumping. Moments when the movement, the music, and the magic came together in divine symbiosis.
I've now been dancing for almost five years, and I could probably go to any club in the greater Los Angeles area, and know someone from the LA salsa community. We are a tight-knit and supportive group, and we can literally dance the night away. I suspect that for many of us, life and love may come and go, but salsa goes on. And our community is part of the beauty of that. Right now I am learning salsa rueda which is a Cuban-style street dance, done in a circle or wheel (rueda). It is 'called' like square dance, and you change partners as you move around the circle. It is fun. One of the great things about salsa is that there are various dances with origins in distinctly different places in Latin-America. As you learn more, you can acquire different layers of nuance which, when interwoven, will make you into a distinctively-styled dancer. In the dance, everyone is unique. Like snowflakes, or butterfly wings.
But the best part of it is that I have learned to dance in the face of . . . whatever. Billy doesn't dance much (our agreement is that he knows enough to dance once with me if salsa is played at a wedding or what have you). But he understands that dancing brings me bliss, and a centering comfort that is necessary to my well-being. He supports me, and I am so grateful to him for this. For, in the last analysis, after the bliss of dancing, I come home to Billy, who holds a space in my heart greater than any other interest I may ever have. But I also think that he appreciates me for who I am, and a large part of that is that I am now a salsera. And that doesn't mean that I make that stuff with the chopped tomatoes. Though, truth be told, I can do that as well. Just not in the same shoes. Thanks for reading my blog.
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About Me
- Bronte Healy
- California, United States
- Once, I came up with this brilliant idea (well, I thought so, anyway) that the key to happiness was to concentrate on three things -- to choose three interests, then focus and funnel your energy into that trio. I was an English major in college and have always written in some shape or form. So, my first choice was writing. I've always kept journals, and have also written plays, novels, poetry, and shopping lists. I do have a day job. It deals with numbers (assets and finances). Go figure. I went to college at a California University. I live in California, Los Angeles, but not downtown. No children, and sadly, between dogs at the moment (dog person, not a cat person). Enough info? I was going for just enough to not be a cypher, yet not enough to entice a stalker. And, I started my blog after being dragged, kicking and screaming, to do so. Blogs! Read about ME here, right? But I have been advised that this is a way to write regularly, and to put your writing OUT THERE. So, here goes. My name is Bronte Healy. Thanks for reading my blog.