Mother sandwich…
Looking over the country with those sunken eyes as if the world out there had been altered or made suspect by what he’d seen of it elsewhere…
As if he might never see it right again…
Or worse did see it right at last…
See it as it had always been, would forever be…
The boy who rode on slightly before him sat a horse not only as if he’d been born to it which he was but as if were he begot by malice or mischance into some queer land where horses never were he would have found them anyway…
Would have known that there was something missing for the world to be right or he right in it and would have set forth to wander wherever it was needed for as long as it took until he came upon one and he would have known that that was what he sought and it would have been…
— in All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy
Congo trypanosomiasis…
Alice, you’re not wearing your corset,
or your stockings!!!
It’s not proper…
Mother,
if it were proper to wear a codfish on your head,
Would you do it???
— Alice and her mother conversing in a carriage on the way to her engagement party,
In Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland
Flamenco is the sledge hockey of dance…
Yesterday Teacher gave us a pep talk before the circle…
I love a good pep talk.
it makes me smile all the way down to my cervix…
Sometimes,
but not last night,
because father wasn’t happy with the lack of jump,
I wish I could be in the Canucks’ locker room,
just to hear what coach has to say,
and make notes on the smell of hockey…
Teacher told us,
Flamenco is not for the faint-hearted…
It is all about commitment…
She can tell who is hard core…
She watches attendance drop over the course of a semester,
and she knows that the ones who are still there,
as time ticks,
have it in their blood…
Slow dripping essence right into the blue lines,
running under your skin,
on the inside of your arm…
A flamenco dancer also has to be a musician…
Jazz and ballet do not demand this of you…
I was a concert violinist,
and when I started flamenco in my early twenties I had never danced before…
Then something happened…
I started going to four classes a day…
I went to Spain…
I made charts of all of the steps I learned,
in all of the classes that I took…
I have books full of notes…
Even with my musical training that began when I was four,
it took me three years before I could even begin to understand Bulerias…
Then she laid out a path of becoming,
for all of us to hear,
First you’ll come here for Bulerias por fiesta class…
You’ll go home and cry…
You’ll want to kill me for making you go in the circle…
You’ll want to quit…
But it will get into you…
And then you’ll go to La Frontera de Jerez…
Take some more classes…
You’ll take one thing from each teacher you meet,
and incorporate it into your own dancing…
Bulerias will sink deeper…
Then you’ll be in love with it…
It will be yours…
And Bulerias will be ALL that you’ll want to dance…
The other day Starshine asked,
Mama, are you going to finish your PhD???
I told her that I intended to be working on it for the rest of my life,
by experiencing the Univercity which surrounds me…
I said,
I’ve lost interest in comprehensive exams,
and thesis defence…
For the sake of Pete,
I”m forty-two years old,
I drive a Volvo V70 with a 20 valve engine,
I don’t need to be supervised by a GD committee…
I told her about how I saw a colleague in my program express the most beautiful,
compelling,
and comprehensive examination of poetic philosophy,
that I have ever borne witness to,
and it wasn’t enough…
She has to do more…
Then Starshine hit a nail on the head,
Sounds like having to prove yourself doesn’t work for you anymore…
I’ve seen things pass without revision that should not even have seen the light of day…
Presentations that came from a place where the sun don’t shine…
And I once worked for a principal who under the guise of giving teachers time to plan,
took each class in the school one by one and scripted each child into calling her doctor,
while she strummed her own guitar…
Playing doctor has been one of my favorite games since I was a little girl…
I never needed a title to play it,
and I still don’t…
On Friday,
while I was throwing plates,
a more senior potter guided me with some of his technique,
based on his own,
real experience…
He told me that when you start to work with larger volumes of clay,
you have to hold your left arm on your belly,
to brace yourself,
against the clay,
while you’re centering it,
Or the clay will start to push you around…
Then he passed along a secret,
To prevent your plates from cracking in the centre,
you have to compress the clay,
with the rounded edge of a wooden rib…
Keeping two hands on the rib,
as you run it back and forth over the clay,
will ensure a solid centre that will withstand the drying,
glazing,
and firing processes…
Then you’ll end up with an amazing plate,
and you’ll be a hero in your own time…
He stepped away from his teaching and left me to practice what I’d learned,
on my own,
throwing the odd cue,
while he worked on his own project of building vessels,
from calico clay…
Reminding me each time I asked him a question,
about what I should do next,
This is your plate…
Do what you want with it…
What makes a man spend his whole life in disguise???
Puck support…
Sometimes I know why someone is always on my mind…
Other times I not so sure why some people are showing up for the day…
So I just go with it and see what happens…
Last night after Tangos Por Fiesta class,
and my moment in the circle practicing the stringing together of marcaje, llamadas, and remates…
I got the answer to why #10 was skating around my cerebral cortex yesterday when I turned on the Team 1040 live report of the Canucks vs. the San Jose Sharks game,
and heard Ryan Johnson score the goal that brought the Canucks to a 3-2 win…
Nice work shooting left Mr. Thunder Bay…
I still don’t know hockey’s rules but I’m impressed by someone who plays defense,
and can get a goal from that position…
I’m sure it isn’t easy…
Last night teacher was telling us that remate comes from bull fighting…
It means final kill…
The last stab that the matador gives to sever the spinal cord of the bull,
and finish him off…
In Tangos Por Fiesta the final remate tells the singer and the guitarist that you want to exit…
A strong signal that you are bringing your dance to a close,
and you want to be sung off the stage…
Because of her physical size Starshine was often favoured for goalie on her soccer team,
at the beginning of the season…
But she doesn’t like that kind of responsibility…
She knows how Luongo feels when he takes it all on with a belief that he was THE one who let his team down…
You have to have buffalo shoulders to carry that load,
and Starshine doesn’t want it when she’s playing for fun…
She’s carrying enough as it is…
She prefers to play defense,
Mama, I’ve been in goal so I know exactly what the goalie needs from me,
and I do my best to give it…
I see her tension when she sees Luongo too far out of goal,
and says,
He needs to let his defensemen do their job protecting the net,
and then they need to do it…
I’ve seen Starshine kick a ball into the goal from the centre of the field…
I marvel at her strength,
and the power in her amateur shot…
And I wonder where she gets it from…
Then I remember my own legs,
and how they’re strong enough to kick a plagiarizing professor up a mountain,
without him even knowing what hit him,
until it’s too late,
and my essaie is already in his book…
Starshine is trying out for a gold team…
She hopes to be selected but is happy to play on at the silver level as her skills develop…
Her learning curve on the field this year has been exponential,
and I don’t see any signs of letting up…
Like a chip off the old block,
I started to throw plates last week,
out of Navajo clay,
and today I’m going back for more…
There is a pair of Canadian geese that fly over my house every day…
Honking like crazy as they head east toward the mountains…
I never know exactly what they’re saying but their wings are in perfect sync,
like tiny magnetic dancers,
on a road to somewhere,
and nowhere,
all at the same time…
And don't ever hold me down...
Canuck'd 