Sunday, July 25, 2010

Can't dance, don't ask me

I was making dinner, or washing dishes .. or something a couple weeks ago, in the kitchen anyway, when it hit me... I have, apparently, lost the ability to dance. I do not know if it is a condition of some degradation of coordination due to my advancing age or a lack of practice ... but its gone. We'll worse than gone really, it's out of synch. I still dance it seems but only in a out by two beats and a tad slow sort of way. Yes I dance like a gawky 40 something divorced from the beauty of music. One of my more generous confidants reported its a fairly common affliction but it does not make it better.

HELP! Send Arthur Murray groupons.

I am sure I will find a way to blame typing. That the deft actualization of self I achieve in this modern world with my tappy tappy fingerpads is sucking skills from my toes, foot soles, ankles and knees.

It must be fought! I am pray now and always to be a dancer. It is always a part of me. Lacking the music making skills of my elders I was erstwhile inseparable from music in the form of dance. When again?

But really how can it be expected to maintain itself with no practice and less and less physicality period. There are many things about being an office jockey that slays me but these days I zoom in on the sendentary bit. When I was home with the kids it was a pretty active life. Shopping on Fraser street to fill a stroller has been replaced by the 11 o'clock flights to a late night box store. Park time replaced by the office chair spun ever so slightly. This summer I got my own goat driving to the Y to work out in my car. That is just not me. A couple days later I started the evening walk. I use them to catch up with other mother people and generally to get out of the house/out of the office

This sort of activity is v. common in my neighbourhood where a walk at 9pm can find me struggling to keep pace with the Indian Grammas in packs of 4 flapping chiffon scarves motoring around the park. The park is full of still swinging kids on the monkey bars and maybe a pick up game soccer ... better yet a cricket match! It gets me off my butt and out of my head. Talking about being digital seems all the rage.. but this week I just couldn't help thinking how I need help being physical. And, how, I rage against the fleeting physicality.

In related news -- this week as I left for work 'shiny and new' p-man lobbed a nice compliment. "Honey, you look nice. Very Ella Fitzgerald." Moi: knit brows & confused, STARE. Him: "Oh, I mean v. ZELDA Fitzgerald!" Yeah okay better. So there, we're both losing it.

Stay tuned for details of our rehab.

Nice picture via niceness of alicepopkorn

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