rivka

Here's the "If I could..." edition. You guys ask good questions.

kazoogrrl: If you worked at Colonial Williamsburg, you would be what kind of historical reenactor, and why?

If we are fantasizing that I would have any skills I might need to obtain such a position, I'd like to be in the dressmakers'/milliners' shop, preferably focusing on fine embroidery. When we were there in November, there was a woman sitting in a sunny window embroidering the most stunning piece of white-on-white lace. I really enjoy fine needlework, but I don't have much time (okay, any time) to work on it. It would be pleasant to have a lot of time to develop those skills and share them with others, in a mellow and conversational setting.

If we're thinking about positions I might legitimately be qualified for, I'd probably wind up doing historical dance performance. Which is funny, because I'm about the least athletic or graceful person ever, under ordinary circumstances. But I've done quite a bit of English Country Dancing, and I love it, and I'm good at it.

pameladean: What are three things you'd do to your house if you could?

0. Buy it. I would love to own this house instead of renting it. But I know that's not what you meant, so I'm making it #0.

1. Put decking on the porch outside our bedroom, so that it can be walked on without damaging the roof surface. I understand why our landlord never did that - that short short railing would create a massive liability risk, and you couldn't put a real, safe-height railing in because the historical preservation people would throw a fit.

2. Insulate the kitchen and the pantry. They're just kind of hanging off the back of the house, with nothing underneath them and nothing around them, and they get so cold in the winter that for a while the olive oil congealed.

3. Rip out the 70's-era paneling and dropped ceiling in the third floor guest room. Then, eventually, we could convert it to our bedroom and turn our gorgeous current bedroom, with its floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves, into a study for the whole family. Right now our desks are crammed into the dining room instead.

moobabe: If you could do anything (job/hobby/etc) that you can't or don't do right now, what would it be?

Homeschool. This is in the works for a year and a half from now, when Alex is scheduled to start kindergarten. Michael and I hope to both work part-time and both share in the homeschooling. I'd kind of like to get started sooner, although I recognize that the older Colin is when we start the easier things will be. (Oops, here I am bringing in kids/parenting again, and violating the purpose of the meme.)

duanekc: If you had unlimited time and budget, would you travel? Where, and why? With or without family? Are there places you would like to see just by yourself, or is traveling without family unthinkable?

Oh, gosh. I haven't traveled that much, and I have a long list of places I'd like to go. I would love to go on safari in Africa. I'd like to see Egypt and Petra. I would like to do a rain forest/beach/snorkeling trip in central America. I would like to go on a cruise. I would like to cross the US and Canada by transcontinental rail. I would like to visit Vietnam. I would like to take the kids to Disneyworld.

I don't like to leave my kids for longer than a few days - at least, I can't imagine doing that until they're much older. So although I see definite advantages to familyless travel that'd be pretty far in my future. I think it will start being feasible for us to do significant travel when Colin is about the age that Alex is now. I have this family adventure travel site bookmarked, and it is a frequent stop for fantasizing.

castiron: What craft skill (where craft could be anything from sewing to blacksmithing to origami to small engine repair) would you most like to learn?

Quilting.

johnpalmer: Is there any one thing that you wish you had blogged about, but even if you were blogging, it's been *way* too long, so you can't blog about it now... but oh, it was *important*, and you really wanted to say something about it!

What was it? What did you want to say?

I wish I had finished my series on physician-assisted suicide, because it's a topic that I think many, many smart and ethical and well-meaning people are misguided about. I may be getting back to doing some writing on that in the near future.

OMFG this is the kind of day I'm having:

Alex and I went to the Baltimore Folk Music Society's family dance, as we have done a few times before. The caller was not as great as usual, but we still had a good time. Alex mostly shadowed me - we held hands and acted as one dancer together - but when she got tired I scooped her up and carried her on my hip.

After an hour or so, her interest flagged and we were both more seriously tired. (We had our second OWL overnight last night, which pretty much used up my week's supply of energy.) I sat down on a bench and began to gather our things.

When she saw us getting ready to leave, a middle-aged woman I don't know came over to us.

"You were amazing with her-"

I gave a parental smile-and-shrug. It is tricky to steer a three-year-old through a contra-style dance.

"-the way you were holding her-"

Alex is thin and light for her size, but I can see how someone might think it's impressive to dance while carrying a 28-pound weight. I'm used to carrying her, though, so it's no big deal.

"-even though you have something wrong yourself."

I froze. Looked fixedly at her and raised my eyebrows in reproof. She didn't seem to notice. She gestured at my right arm, as if I might not have taken her meaning.[1]

"I mean, for you to be able to dance like that-"

I arched my back slightly, keeping the rest of my body stiff with outrage, looked up at her through the tops of my glasses, and gave her Raised Eyebrows of Doom.

My Eyebrows of Doom apparently need recalibrating. Because I watched, spellbound, as her hand came out. Pat. Pat.

She patted me on the head.

No, really. She literally did. I'm not exaggerating for humorous effect or being metaphorical. She patted me on the fucking head.

"I didn't even know there was anything wrong with you!" she said benevolently, as if conferring praise.

"There isn't anything wrong with me," I said coldly. "I'm a very experienced English Country dancer. I've been dancing for years." I took Alex by the hand and we swept out of the room while she uttered little exclamations of protest and surprise.

I just... wow. Wow. She... wow.

I know that I should use this kind of situation as an opportunity to educate, but I was quite literally struck speechless. I mean... I mean... okay, where do you even start with someone who, head patting?



[1] For those of you who don't know, my right arm is about half as long as my left, the elbow doesn't bend, the shoulder has limited mobility, and the hand is four-fingered and slightly smaller.

This afternoon, as we've done a couple of times before, we went to a family dance sponsored by the Baltimore Folk Music Society.

The way they've set these up, there's a family dance from 5-6:30pm, then a potluck, and then American folk dancing (contra and square) for adults. Both groups share a caller and dance band. Um, supposedly. This time, the band was very very late - they still hadn't arrived by the time that we left, when the family dance was nearly over - and so the caller had to accompany himself on guitar or fiddle. It's a testament to his considerable skill that this worked at all; in fact, it worked very well.

The family dances seem to follow a particular rhythm: they start out with simple folk dances and dancing games for the first half, and then in the second half there's more of a skill-building focus. The second half of tonight's dance was an introduction to square dancing, leading up to a fairly complicated square dance. ("Duck for the Oyster," if you follow these things.)

Alex was the youngest walker there. (telerib and moeticae had Baby Spud in a sling.) For the first two dances, she was my shadow - we held hands and participated as if we were one dancer. (That's what the youngest children usually do, so that they don't have to change partners away from a parent.) After that, she rode on a hip. She did amazingly well when she danced - she did a rough approximation of the steps, kept her focus on the dance, and showed great stamina. And she danced with such joy. She just grinned from ear to ear. Her clear favorite was the Kinderpolka - she even asked me to "sing it" on the way home, which seemed to mean talking out the steps. My favorite was Sasha, a wildly popular (in folk dancing circles), raucous pseudo-Russian dance that the caller couldn't resist putting in when he realized he had not one, but two different Alexandras at the dance.

The other Alexandra is someone I've seen at English Country Dances since she was about four years old and riding on her father's shoulders. She's now nine or ten and has become an accomplished dancer - when we did a cakewalk at the end to win a free pass to next month's dance, she spontaneously did an impressive set of clogging steps. It was cool to see.

I'd like to get more closely involved in the Folk Music Society again myself, and I'd like us to do the family dances more regularly. I had been thinking that we were in an awkward time for that, with Alex too big to be carried and too little to dance herself. But she did great. And it seems like such a wonderful first structured physical activity: it's fun, it builds strength and coordination, it has the potential to be a lifelong hobby, it brings you into a supportive intergenerational community, and there's absolutely none of the competitive or figure-conscious baggage that comes with more traditional activities like team sports and classical dance. And oh, did she ever love it.

I went English Country Dancing last night for the first time in, oh, more than a year. It was wonderful.

When I stopped going, the group had been dwindling in attendance - and there was a particular shortage of women, which meant that I felt a lot of pressure not to sit out any dances. (Yes, same-sex pairs can dance together, but women in our group are much more inclined to do so than men.) Last night there were about two dozen people, a nice-sized group for dancing and a damned good crowd for a holiday weekend. Some of my old friends were there, others not - and of course there were plenty of people who were new since I left. I was mostly caught up with renewing acquaintances, but I did spend some time reassuring a woman who, after a full six weeks of dancing, felt like she wasn't any good at it.

Boy, am I out of shape. (Annoyingly, two different dancers responded to that statement last night by commenting that I didn't look like I was still carrying much pregnancy weight. No, I'm not, but it's not like losing weight automatically supplies you with muscles.) I was up for about two dances before I had to sit out a dance and rest. But I had a great time when I did dance. I've forgotten less than I expected. Weirdly, although I had no trouble with complicated dance figures, I made a few completely boneheaded mistakes - such as forgetting whether I was supposed to be dancing with the couple above or the couple below. I'm sure that if I make it back there for another couple of dances, it'll be just as if I never left.

I wonder if I can corset myself into my ball gown.

Alex did beautifully. I wore her in the sling, sort of sitting up against my chest with her head well-supported. She watched the first dance very closely, and then put her head on my chest and fell asleep. She didn't get in the way at all. I kept a hand on her for some of the jerkier dance motions, like setting left and right, but mostly I felt secure about her position and safety. And everyone was glad to see her. I had asked a dance friend who also goes to our church whether there would be dancing on Memorial Day, and (unbeknownst to me) he printed out a little thing welcoming her to her first dance, and had everyone sign it. It was very sweet.

As I strapped her into her carseat afterward, she gave me a huge grin. "Yeah," I said, grinning back, "you and Mama just had a special time together, didn't you?" She didn't know what my words meant, of course, but I think we understood each other.

This evening, for the first time, I'm going to call some dances for my English Country Dance group.

I've been interested in calling for a while. It initially arose out of frustration with callers who irritate me, which perhaps isn't the best of motivations. But I also think it's something that I'll do well, once I've had some practice. So I've been talking to different callers, collecting advice, and thinking about how I would explain various dance moves and dances.

Tonight's a "community callers" night, meaning that lots of different people will call a few dances each. I've been promised skilled musicians who require little direction. (I haven't the faintest idea of how to direct ECD musicians, so this is a very good thing.) I've chosen two simple dances I know well. The only potential hitch is that it's the first Monday of the month, and the first Monday is when we have a new dancers' workshop before the regular dance. So there will probably be some complete beginners.

As we always do, I'll teach the steps of each dance first, phrase by phrase. Then, as they dance it through with the music, I'll call out upcoming steps just before or just as they happen. If anyone gets confused or loses track of what they're supposed to be doing, it will be my job to call out enough useful instructions to fix it. That's the part that worries me most.

The dances I've chosen are:
( Ashford Anniversary )

( Well Hall )


I'll probably make something of a mess of it - I'm sure everyone does, when they're up there for the first time trying to call and pay attention to the musicians and watch the dancers and pick up on mistakes as they're happening. But it's not as if it would be any easier if I waited longer. I know these dances by heart. They're easy. There will be a lot of experienced dancers there to help out the beginners. So here we go - wish me luck!

Last night was the Baltimore Folk Music Society's annual Playford Ball - my third since I've been doing English Country Dancing. It was a lovely, lovely evening. I think there were around 100 people there, which meant plenty of room to dance - last year the sets were so squashed together that movement was unpleasantly constricted. This year we still had three longways sets across the hall, but the individual dancers were able to spread widely enough apart that, for example, if the dance called for backing up you could back up through the line behind you, instead of coming up short against a wall of backs.

I love watching an entire hall full of people who know how to dance well, all moving in precisely the same patterns at precisely the same time. Each individual dancer has their own flourishes and puts their own stamp of personality on the patterns, but at the same time you have a hundred people dodging and weaving in such perfect synchrony that everyone is in exactly the right place and no one even bumps elbows. It's gorgeous.

I got to dance with curiousangel and wcg (who rose from his sickbed, brave man, although you couldn't tell it from watching him dance), and - yay! - with helygen, who came down for the weekend to attend the ball. She made quite an impression on the men present, in a simple and elegant dress wcg made for her.

The band - a group from Philadelphia and New Jersey called "Hold the Mustard" - was excellent at building and sustaining the energy of the crowd. Their bluesy interpretation of Smithy Hill (link is to an mp3, but not of "Hold the Mustard") sounded like it came right out of an after-hours lounge, and led to some pretty ridiculous, and yet fun, strutting and sauntering in the set I was in.

The food was excellent - little morsels of potato and herb-filled puff pastry, mini quiches, savory little meatballs, seven or eight kinds of gourmet cheeses, cold asparagus spears, zucchini, and bell pepper strips with two different dips, fancy breads cut into ornate shapes, mini cheesecakes topped with glazed fruit, rich little chocolate desserts. It was almost enough to make me forgive the woman in charge of the kitchen for being snippy about letting anyone in during afternoon ball practice. (This was a vast, uncramped kitchen, capable of handling eight or ten kitchen workers without anyone being tripped over, and there were only two people preparing food in it. But she was still mortally offended when I entered to get some water, because I was allergic to the only drink being served, and then again when curiousangel entered to get an ice pack for my injured ankle.)

The only thing that marred the evening for me was that someone criticized my dress. She was wearing a gorgeous concoction of embroidered white silk, and as I was asking about it she turned up her nose at mine because I wasn't wearing a bum roll or paniers beneath it. I explained that my dress was a copy of a specific 18th century gown that hadn't been worn with figure enhancers, and she treated me to a condescending little lecture about how wrong I was to think that 18th century dresses were ever worn without them, and how I had probably relied on an ignorant, inaccurate source for my pattern.

Probably everyone who's ever been in the SCA is laughing and rolling their eyes right now, but my feelings were genuinely hurt. In the first place, she was just wrong about the style of my gown - but even if she hadn't been, it's not like the Playford Ball is supposed to be about historical accuracy in dress. People were wearing anything from modern formalwear to sweeping gypsy/hippie dresses to African robes to, yes, reproductions of 18th and early 19th century clothing. People wear whatever they think is festive. It's supposed to be about dancing and fellowship. I have no idea why she thought it was appropriate to go out of her way to put me down.

curiousangel suggested that I accidentally spill my glass of cranberry punch over her white silk gown, but I restrained myself. Later on, when we were in the same set, she kept trying to make eye contact and smiling broadly at me. I don't know whether she thought our conversation had been friendly, or what.

New Year's Eve and New Year's Day went beautifully.
( New Year's Eve )
( New Year's Day )
( two New Year's Eve pictures )

wcg and I did English Country Dance together first, and then a few months later curiousangel started joining us. There were a few surprised looks when I showed up with a new man and introduced him as my husband, and a couple of quiet side questions. We haven't made any announcements or lectured people about polyamory - I've just been clearly there with both of them, and that's been it.

There's a formal ball coming up in Binghamton, New York, not far from where my parents live. The oldest ECD couple (they're in their seventies) always go to it because they used to live in Binghamton, and when they heard my parents were nearby they started encouraging us to attend. We just recently decided for sure that we would, and tonight I had this exchange:

Rivka: "Hey, we've decided for sure that we're going to be at the Binghamton Ball."
ECDer in his seventies: "Great! How many of you?"

And I was just... wow. I stammered out "Just me and Misha," and he said something cheerful about hoping we'd have a good time.

And, you know, that's how it should be.

So, a good night of dancing on Monday - right up until the middle of a fairly rowdy walk-through of Picking Up Sticks, when Paul accidentally tripped me. Or tripped over me. I'm not clear of the sequence. I was doing the steps, and paying attention to my partner, and laughing, and then suddenly I was completely off-balance and trying hard not to fall.

That was probably my mistake. I should have fallen. But instead, I came down extremely hard on my right foot to balance myself, and the shock of it went all the way up to the hip.

In the moment, it didn't hurt enough to leave the dance. I staggered a bit and clutched Carl's arm, and I felt kind of light-headed. But I finished the walk-through and danced the dance and went to sit down, and then my hip started to ache persistently. And Paul came over to apologize, and I told him it was nothing to worry about - I was just going to sit out a dance to rest, and then I changed my mind and left altogether.

That was Monday, and today it still hurts. Nothing dramatic, just a quiet throbbing pain and some difficulty walking. I'm doing the things I know how t do, rest and heat and anti-inflammatories. I'm trying not to make a big deal out of it. It's still much less pain than I used to have every day. I can still walk. But it's a little scary to think about everyday pain coming back.

The ironic part of all this is that I've recently gotten into a rasseff discussion with aiglet about chronic pain and the things I've learned from it. I'm having superstitious thoughts that I should have left the topic severely alone.

...well, no, I couldn't have. But I wanted to. What a lovely evening.

The dance was held at Adelphi Mill, a genuine grist mill built in the 1790s and still equipped with millstones. It's a two-story building - they served dinner (and broke for dessert) downstairs and had the second floor clear for dancing. There were about 60-70 people there, many of them folks we knew from our weekly Monday night dances. Of course my earlier fears about being partnerless were just nerves. Misha seemed to constantly have partners, and I only had to sit out two dances involuntarily.

I was surprised that I knew most of the dances. Lili Burlero, the Duke of Kent's Waltz, the Bishop, Jack's Maggot, Childgrove... I'm really feeling now that I have an internal understanding of the dances, how they come together, how to remember them and dance them gracefully. This is not to say that I don't mess them up on occasion -particularly when someone tripped me during a vigorous version of Trip to Paris. But I feel as though I've made the translation from translating into a foreign language to thinking in it. And that was a great way to feel tonight.

We had a champagne toast at midnight, sang Auld Lang Syne, wandered around wishing everyone a Happy New Year. And I wish the same to all of you. 2001 has been a hard year for most of us, I think. May 2002 find us all prosperously employed, healthy, and happy.