We went to two fun contra dances this weekend. The first was at our "home dance" with a good band, but not my favorite sound. (Actually, they're my current least favorite band, but at least this time, they weren't complaining within our earshot about having to play for us.) A few people dressed in costumes. And perhaps I take all that community, fun, and delight for granted. It was a fine dance, not our finest, but I'm glad we went.
On Sunday, we traveled about ten minutes to a little old New England church in a tiny town center. Our "Queen Mum," who started our dances and kept them going for years, who is an excellent caller, who calls all over New England and the rest of the country, had agreed to call a dance in this tiny out of the way place. There's a bit of a connection -- the husband of the minister at this church is the brother of QM's partner.
A few weeks ago, we went to a concert and on the way home stopped by a surprise birthday party for QM's partner. There we met the minister and her husband and they told us about the dance and strongly encouraged us to come. The minister and her husband were throwing a thank you party to the church for their welcome and support. And because we live so close by, we thought it would be fun to go.
QM had engaged two good musicians. In fact, I don't know if the people assembled realized how lucky they were to be in the presence of such talent.
So there we were gathered in the church's former sanctuary, a cozy room with a stage (the former altar), a beautiful wood floor, and those clean lines that I've come to expect of the most beautiful churches in the area.
Oh, and there were somewhere between 40 and 50 people, from ages 1.5 up into their 70s at least. There were a few experienced dancers, but mostly a lot of eager people.
QM was masterful. He started us off with very simple dances, some in circles and some in long lines, and some in random groups of four. No one worried about who was leading or following -- that never entered into the picture. We didn't even do a progressing dance (where one couple dances with just one other couple at a time, then moves on to the next couple in line) until the very last dance.
But the amazing thing is we were dancing, we were somewhat graceful, we were laughing, and I think everyone felt wildly successful. The men didn't back out. The children got it. Everyone was working hard, and everyone had a lot of fun.
Clearly, most of the attendees were from one church community, so they already knew each other, but I suspect that connections were made or strengthened that hadn't existed before. As a total outsider, I felt absolutely welcomed and included.
Bravo to QM. I'm amazed at his ability to teach so quickly and graciously, and to leave everyone assemled feeling good about themselves and the dance. We'll definitely be back if another dance is held.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Friday, October 27, 2006
well-equipped
My kitchen is well-equipped, but certainly not in the modern sense. I love looking through catalogs and stores at all the little gadgets you can get. Of course, you'd need to do fancy cooking (or at least intend to) to make use of most of them, and then, where would you put it all? Certainly not in our workspace, which has adequate but not overly generous storage space.
I recently replaced my quarter-century old knives. They were expensive (to me) when I bought them, served me well, and just weren't, as they say, cutting it anymore. The new knives are light and quick and very sharp, and if I'm lucky, I'll be thinking about replacing them in another quarter century.
I'm still using the Revere Ware I bought in the late 70s, and the blender and mixer that were used when I acquired them in my early 20s. I have two Creuset pots (enamel covered cast iron) that I use for dishes such as macaroni and cheese or milk-based soups. But now we're dipping into specialty equipment.
By far, the equipment I use the most is probably the oldest. In 1978, I met the man who would be my boyfriend for the next two and a half years. We were both young, though he was ten years older than I. His father had died that summer or perhaps the summer before. He had cleaned out his father's apartment and come home with some treasures.
For part of his career, Tom's dad was a chef in Army officer clubs around the world. At least, that was always the claim, though Tom never did understand how his father acquired shrapnel wounds several times while toiling away in a kitchen. Having grown up in Washington, I thought this story made perfect sense, myself.
Anyways, Tom saved a set of cast iron pots in fairly miserable shape. I guess he decided he didn't want them after all, because I ended up with them -- two big frying pans that can serve as covers for each other, a stock pot, and a cover for that. They were filthy and their seasoning was questionable. So I spent hours and days scrubbing and attacking the edges with a toothpick. scraping off decades of crud. Then I seasoned them all over again.
I lost the soup pot and cover in my first (and I hope, last) divorce. But I still have the frying pans. And I use them constantly, probably two to four times a week, about as often as I cook real dinners. They have seen me through so much cooking history, too, from the barely inedible to dishes I, at least, would order again.
My mother used to clean her cast iron out with salt and paper towels. No water touched those babies. My friend Daniel would use water, but never soap, and never anything harsher than a sponge. We're rough on our pans -- we apply soap and water and plastic scrubbers and scrapers. They're well-seasoned, so they just wash out. Then we dry, re-oil, and put away.
And I hope that in a quarter century I won't be thinking of replacing these babies. Perhaps I'll even be able to pass them down to the next generation, should they be wise enough to want them.
I recently replaced my quarter-century old knives. They were expensive (to me) when I bought them, served me well, and just weren't, as they say, cutting it anymore. The new knives are light and quick and very sharp, and if I'm lucky, I'll be thinking about replacing them in another quarter century.
I'm still using the Revere Ware I bought in the late 70s, and the blender and mixer that were used when I acquired them in my early 20s. I have two Creuset pots (enamel covered cast iron) that I use for dishes such as macaroni and cheese or milk-based soups. But now we're dipping into specialty equipment.
By far, the equipment I use the most is probably the oldest. In 1978, I met the man who would be my boyfriend for the next two and a half years. We were both young, though he was ten years older than I. His father had died that summer or perhaps the summer before. He had cleaned out his father's apartment and come home with some treasures.
For part of his career, Tom's dad was a chef in Army officer clubs around the world. At least, that was always the claim, though Tom never did understand how his father acquired shrapnel wounds several times while toiling away in a kitchen. Having grown up in Washington, I thought this story made perfect sense, myself.
Anyways, Tom saved a set of cast iron pots in fairly miserable shape. I guess he decided he didn't want them after all, because I ended up with them -- two big frying pans that can serve as covers for each other, a stock pot, and a cover for that. They were filthy and their seasoning was questionable. So I spent hours and days scrubbing and attacking the edges with a toothpick. scraping off decades of crud. Then I seasoned them all over again.
I lost the soup pot and cover in my first (and I hope, last) divorce. But I still have the frying pans. And I use them constantly, probably two to four times a week, about as often as I cook real dinners. They have seen me through so much cooking history, too, from the barely inedible to dishes I, at least, would order again.
My mother used to clean her cast iron out with salt and paper towels. No water touched those babies. My friend Daniel would use water, but never soap, and never anything harsher than a sponge. We're rough on our pans -- we apply soap and water and plastic scrubbers and scrapers. They're well-seasoned, so they just wash out. Then we dry, re-oil, and put away.
And I hope that in a quarter century I won't be thinking of replacing these babies. Perhaps I'll even be able to pass them down to the next generation, should they be wise enough to want them.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
friends in high places
Saturday morning, we awoke to construction like noises. I peeked out the window and saw that my neighbors across the street were deeply engaged in some kind of fun guy project. A closer look revealed a huge dumpster, a forklift, lots of pickup trucks (my neighbor's friends), and a raft of roofing shingles.
When I drove by a little later, there were seemingly scores of men on the roof, bonding away. By mid-day, the old shingles were off, and by day's end, they'd replaced more than half the shingles. On Sunday they were back again and finished up the job fairly quickly.
Closer to home, actually, in home, Robert's been working on some cool projects.
A few years ago, when the addition was put on, the electricians misheard our request for computer wiring. They very proudly showed off the telephone wiring, but not til the walls were closed in. At that point, they whined so much about having to put computer wiring in after the fact that we said Fine, We'll Go Wireless. It was a great idea, and Robert's network, which is closer to the motherlode source, has always worked flawlessly. My network, though, which is further away, has never worked well, despite the addition of large antennas and a brand new computer.
So Robert dropped wires from the attic two floors down to the source, then across the attic and back into my study and his study. We still have wireless access for some purposes but are running our main computers on good old fashioned ethernet wire. And after two and a half years of trying to believe in wireless access, I now have an always-on network.
In addition, we've purchased eight setback thermostats, and Robert has installed half of them. We're still doing fine without heat, but I'm looking forward to more mechanical heat management that doesn't rely so much on my spacey memory. It's also kind of fun to see what temperature it actually is inside -- the old thermostats were off by about ten-twenty degrees.
We've been enjoying the wood stove and I've been turning on the little gas stove. But eventually, it will get cool enough even for us and we'll turn the heat on.
And in the personal triumph department, after months of swimming at the same speed week after week, my swimming speed has picked up ever so slightly. I'm now swimming 1/2 a lap more than before for every five minutes. Today, for the first time ever, I swam a mile in 45 minutes. I'm not sure if I'll stop there for a while or pick up a little more speed; we'll see.
When I drove by a little later, there were seemingly scores of men on the roof, bonding away. By mid-day, the old shingles were off, and by day's end, they'd replaced more than half the shingles. On Sunday they were back again and finished up the job fairly quickly.
Closer to home, actually, in home, Robert's been working on some cool projects.
A few years ago, when the addition was put on, the electricians misheard our request for computer wiring. They very proudly showed off the telephone wiring, but not til the walls were closed in. At that point, they whined so much about having to put computer wiring in after the fact that we said Fine, We'll Go Wireless. It was a great idea, and Robert's network, which is closer to the motherlode source, has always worked flawlessly. My network, though, which is further away, has never worked well, despite the addition of large antennas and a brand new computer.
So Robert dropped wires from the attic two floors down to the source, then across the attic and back into my study and his study. We still have wireless access for some purposes but are running our main computers on good old fashioned ethernet wire. And after two and a half years of trying to believe in wireless access, I now have an always-on network.
In addition, we've purchased eight setback thermostats, and Robert has installed half of them. We're still doing fine without heat, but I'm looking forward to more mechanical heat management that doesn't rely so much on my spacey memory. It's also kind of fun to see what temperature it actually is inside -- the old thermostats were off by about ten-twenty degrees.
We've been enjoying the wood stove and I've been turning on the little gas stove. But eventually, it will get cool enough even for us and we'll turn the heat on.
And in the personal triumph department, after months of swimming at the same speed week after week, my swimming speed has picked up ever so slightly. I'm now swimming 1/2 a lap more than before for every five minutes. Today, for the first time ever, I swam a mile in 45 minutes. I'm not sure if I'll stop there for a while or pick up a little more speed; we'll see.
Monday, October 16, 2006
to life!
Many fun things, a few plays, open studios at the local Art Space, and two concerts this weekend sandwiching a contra dance. After yesterday's concert (a delicious confection of BSO principals topped with a Schuman piano concerto that I particularly like), we attended the tail end of a surprise 50th birthday party.
We missed the surprise part, alas, which is almost always delightful fun. We heard that yesterday's surprise truly was one, and was taken well. We know the partner of the birthday boy well; the BB himself is somewhat newer to our community. But I went up to him and told him that I take great delight when my friends age; it often feels like a present to me. This is not a snarky comment; rather, it is quite deeply heartfelt.
Fortunately, this man totally got it and laughed and smiled at the thought.
A few years ago, he had some kind of health crisis for which I was just barely on the peripherary. I know he was deathly ill and that he was in a coma for a while. The "cure" was a liver transplant that, we were all delighted to hear, took.
So yesterday's celebration consisted of much dancing from across the decades, attendees dressed in fabulous costumes from the 20s, food, laughter, new and old friends, and a man who almost didn't make it to his mid-century birthday.
Much to celebrate, with deep gratitude and a renewed appreciation for life spirit.
We missed the surprise part, alas, which is almost always delightful fun. We heard that yesterday's surprise truly was one, and was taken well. We know the partner of the birthday boy well; the BB himself is somewhat newer to our community. But I went up to him and told him that I take great delight when my friends age; it often feels like a present to me. This is not a snarky comment; rather, it is quite deeply heartfelt.
Fortunately, this man totally got it and laughed and smiled at the thought.
A few years ago, he had some kind of health crisis for which I was just barely on the peripherary. I know he was deathly ill and that he was in a coma for a while. The "cure" was a liver transplant that, we were all delighted to hear, took.
So yesterday's celebration consisted of much dancing from across the decades, attendees dressed in fabulous costumes from the 20s, food, laughter, new and old friends, and a man who almost didn't make it to his mid-century birthday.
Much to celebrate, with deep gratitude and a renewed appreciation for life spirit.
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