We are all dancing fools

The first time this dance party happened was in January 2009 in celebration of Obama’s inauguration

I remember how happy I was, how we all were so glad Obama made it in, the historical weight of the moment, the readiness for change, something far from Bush, Cheney, Rove, good job Brownie, Halliburton, Blackwater

I remember Dan’s band playing I Can See Clearly Now and screaming it at the top of my lungs in solidarity with its message

The next year, the dance was called “The Full Belly Dance” and I was confused: was it a belly dance dance? Did Dan’s band, The No Nos, even know any middle eastern music to which we could don our I Dream of Jeannie outfits and undulate our hips?

Last night, I went to the dance with a full belly

Thankfully, Paul and I got there late, so I only danced for 2 hours instead of

Apparently, I am not at the mercy of my anemia any more because I danced my ass off without incident

On the other hand, my knees are feeling creaky. How can I dance like that into my 50s, 60s, 70s, how?

My face was lobster red after the dance, the same as the when I had exercise-induced asthma after playing racquetball one time in college (squash?)

I know that dancing and certain kinds of music are banned in certain fundamentalist countries. What do you think Santorum thinks of this?

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Thankful Thursday–waylaid

Last week’s rhythm was interrupted. I will attempt to return to some sense of normalcy.

I am thankful that tomorrow morning, eldest doesn’t have school so I can sleep in until about 7:30. YES!

I love these glasses that eldest made at camp last summer (the same camp where she made the glass heart):

Aren’t they pretty? They are also oddly shaped which makes them fun. Sort of wonky. It’s a bit of an adventure to put liquid into them.

I have never called her eldest before and it does sound kind of creepy. But I was being a little funny. Enough of that!

This spoon:

So, yeah, it’s there on the table, broken in two. WTF, twinkly? I’ll tell you wtf: this spoon is probably older than I am. I have now had it as my own for a long time. I don’t know why my mother might have parted with it. Maybe I pinched it from her without her knowledge, but I doubt it. I probably just asked her for it and she obliged. It is one of the oldest things I remember from kitchen-y things growing up. I love this spoon. I think it’s very cool that it has lasted for about 48 years and who knows how much older it is than that. It always reminds me of my mother’s spaghetti sauce, the best in the world. So there’s another thing I love: my ma’s spaghetti sauce. My kids love it, too.

The spoon broke about an hour ago. It has this great split in the ladle-y part and I wonder why it didn’t split in two before. And see, it didn’t break where that split was. That surprises me. What do you call the different parts of a spoon do you suppose? The handle, well, duh. The ladle? The scoop? The scoopy roundy? Wow, I just googled my Q and I did get an answer. That is so stupid: googled my Q.

Here’s something else, not so much that I love chocolate-covered bananas, because I don’t. I hate them. But because this is such an outrageous product with (don’t laugh) an outrageous package (so dumb, sorry). Yeah, I pass these on occasion in the ice cream aisle and finally I remembered my camera so I could photograph them. Yes, I do not own a blackberry-type device and rarely carry my cell phone, so I have to bring an old-fashioned digital camera. What a Luddite.

Is this insane or what? The monkeys are in diapers which is just wrong. I like though that it says it’s a healthy treat. And I like that the milk chocolate is SUPER THICK. So even though I don’t like chocolate-covered bananas, I would take super thick on its own merits.

I’ll have to update y’all on our Waldorf school Holiday Fair next week or so because that is part of what got waylaid. There’s a whole lot of thankful for that celebration every year, certainly enough for a dedicated post of its own.

I have a story to tell about our cat Willow, something that happened that Saturday before she died, but it’s sort of long and so I’m not going to tell it now. I sure still miss her and I cry a lot of the time when I drive past where she was hit, but not all of the time.

Whoa! Late-breaking Friday morning addition to this post: Hey, I got WAY LAID last night.

This is what comes to me in the middle of the night amidst my dark dreams and thoughts of my cat. How dumb is that? Still, in the name of puns, I couldn’t pass it up. Does anybody say laid any more? Is it a generational thing? Chris Smither and Johnny Cash and me.

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