Geo.town -Caches, pt4

I went to a wedding today. It's the first one I've been to since... summer of 2006.  Four years.  The wedding itself was beautiful.  Merely receiving the invitation was an honour and encouragement, and I loved the service.

And the reception was fine, too - until the dancing started.

This is always the story, no?

People dance, I don't.  They get in a pack, and jump and twist and do all kinds of other things and call it dancing, and I sit. It's always awkward, and I'm not exactly fond of being the odd one out, but that's the way it is. And sometimes it's not so bad. I wasn't the only one not dancing, so I had company. 

But then I was asked why I wasn't dancing: did I think it wasn't moral?

Wait.

That's what people think, isn't it?  If a young person, all dressed up, isn't dancing, it must be because they think it's immoral, and are judging all the people who are.  And there you have it.  THIS is why I hate dancing - not because it offends me, but because my choice to not participate leads others to decide (or assume) that I am offended.  

Do I think dancing is immoral?  Very few activities, in themselves, can be considered truly immoral.  Drinking?  It depends.  Criticism?  Also depends.  Even sex, that big red flag word, in itself is far from immoral.  The morality of activities is situational - it depends on the when, how, and why.  When/where is it being done?  How?  In what manner?  Why?  For what reason?  What is the person's attitude or intention?  Is someone drinking a glass of wine with their dinner, or are they guzzling whiskey every night until they get sick or pass out? If someone is dancing in a night club, and their manner and intention is focused on the purpose of titillation, of arousal, then no, I'm not ok with that.  But a bunch of young people rocking out?  Who I am to judge?  So I don't.

I also don't join them.  But that's because I don't like to.  I don't enjoy "dancing" in that crazy group.  Don't get me wrong - I feel the beat and rhythm perfectly fine, and far better than many who love dancing - I'm just not free or happy doing it.  So I don't.  

But I hate not dancing, because I get this vibe of judgment - towards me.  How ironic is that?  The one sitting down feels judged.  I feel measured and found wanting, boxed up, labelled, and set aside.  I feel evaluated and type-cast: no fun, not worth spending time with.  And this hurts.  People trying to persuade me to dance only makes it worse, because when you beg me to come out and dance I hear that I'm really only worth while as a person and friend if I join.  I feel judged.  Even if people aren't consciously thinking "oh, she's sitting down, she must be a boring person," they're still, somewhere, judging me that way.  

Now, if I actually knew how to dance - swing, foxtrot, merengue and the like - and the music allowed, and someone else knew how, I'd LOVE to dance.  It's the I'm-just-going-to-stand-up-there-and-move-however-I-feel-and-call-it-dancing that I don't like.  I hate pretending.  If I can't dance, then I can't dance, and I'm not going to fake otherwise.  I hate deception.  

I've also had unpleasant reactions and responses to modern-day party dancing.  No matter what people declare about the innocence of it, I've watched enough to know that it's not always (read: not inherently) innocent.  I've seen the way some guys watch the girls shake it.  I've heard comments.  And I do NOT want someone looking at me that way, or saying those kinds of things about and to me.  Now, perhaps church people are safe.  But it's not a risk I'm willing to take.  I could dance if no one could see me, but not for all the world to see.

Yet.  My simple stillness is not understood.  I am not understood.  And once again I see the gaping chasm between me and normal people, and I am at a loss how to bridge it.  I can speak with individuals about it, and then they will understand at least some, but what to do about everyone else?  Yeah, just don't worry about what they think.  I've heard that piece of advice before.  It's not that easy.  And people wonder why I'm not more social... it's because I feel judged and looked down upon by them because I don't act the way they do.  But I need to be more social.  I need (and want) to learn how to begin and build relationships with people, and this is terribly difficult if the people you want to befriend think you think that they act immorally and are judging them.  And I can't just begin everything with a disclaimer of "I don't dance, but it doesn't bother me that you do, so don't judge me because you think I'm judging you."

Argle.  I'd rather be in the band.

Geo.town -Caches, pt3

I've been making rockin' smoothies.  One, for dessert, strawberries mostly, with almond milk and ground cacao.  This morning, kiwi, strawberry, raspberry, blackberry, honey, almond milk, pomegranate/mango juice, lime punch.  It's nice to have a blender that doesn't leak.

I just found out about a trip (study/pilgrimage) to Italy this January.  I want to go SO badly.  If I a)get accepted, and b)can afford airfare, I'm going.  Oh yes.  Food issues notwithstanding.  Eating gluten/casein free in Italy?  It's possible, right?  Not authentic Italian, but it can be done.  Oh, I hope.

The poor dog is lonely.  I've been gone so much this week, and she's SO excited when I get home, but I don't want to sit and pet her for 10 minutes - I want to do things, or just sit, or read, or wash dishes, or eat.  This is part of why I'm not inclined to get a pet.  Too many unexpected things happen, and I'd like to maintain freedom a bit longer.

My good friend & former roommate Emily unexpectedly showed up Wednesday.  Much to my excitement - I hadn't thought I'd see her before she left the country for India.  But she came.  It has been a year and a half (?) since I last saw her, and I'm loving the added craziness.  And she brought one of her cousins - whose sister I know - so I can add yet one more of the Winter clan that I've met.  And tomorrow I (we) see another friend who's disappearing soon for PA for the summer.  Then I go to a wedding.  Then...

Life was much simpler last summer.  I needed that simplicity.  I was a fissioning atom by graduation, with way too many new pieces to hold them coherently.  This year I'm more whole, so I don't mind that my world is complexifying.  I'm not moving.  I'm not suddenly meeting TONS OF NEW PEOPLE.  I'm not trying to silence enough voices in brain to hear at least one of them.  I'm not exhausted.  Actually, I am.  But it's more of a physical exhaustion due to DOING so much, on so little sleep, rather than complete emotional and mental and physical and spiritual exhaustion.  Much different.

Which translation of Dante's Divine Comedy is the best?  How does the Louis Biancolli version measure up? I want to read the rest of it.  And I must decide which of the multiple "vintage" copies at the bookstore to get.

Now the age-old question: to read, to eat, to sleep?

Geo.town -Caches Pt2

(lying in my bed at 11.55pm, this took form)

I said I would sing

only what I knew - 

then found I could not sing,

for I knew

nothing.

Except.

That I am hungry.

And hunger makes

a dismal song.

Perhaps once hunger is fully known,

and past,

I shall begin to know

something else,

and be able to

sing.

But until then,

I will open my mouth

silently,

waiting to be filled.

Geo.town -Caches, pt1

I have discovered the sport of setting flat-bottomed glasses on top of ants.  If I had an endless supply of them, there would be glasses all over the counters and floors of this house, each with a differently configured half-squished ant beneath. I also managed to trap four ants - all caught at different times - without losing any - under a glass vase.  There are too many ants here, and they are too big to crunch by hand or foot without feeling the squish. 

The grinning three-legged dog sits in the grass as thunder and wind roll a storm towards us.  It's gentle thunder this time; this morning I awoke to loud thunder and a frightened dog under my bed. There was a storm and a dog in the dream I was dreaming.  This storm isn't storming yet. And it's threat is disappointingly mild-mannered.

The garden out back needs tending.  It takes a brave soul to go outside when there are clouds; huge vampire mosquitoes attack except in direct sunlight.  Or heavy rain, I assume.  But I don't have spare clothes to get soaked so I can pull up grass.  And there are certain plants I don't recognize; they look like weeds, but are growing nicely enough I shan't pull them out until I am certain they deserve it.  I'd rather not despoil my friends' garden.

A child ( I assume ) in a house nearby is learning  to play "The Entertainers" on the piano.  They keep repeating the main theme, with slight variations, over and over.  I heard it Wednesday, too, around the same time.  It catches and snags.

I like rambly empty houses.  Children's toys, books, and jackets stored on the peripheries.  My little gable room on one end, the other house/dog sitter's room way on the other, split by space such that we can both make our own rackets and the other would barely know.  Creaking wooden stair half-turn up to my curtained doorway, where I have a bed-room, tiny entry space, and a bath-room. Even I can easily bang my head on the ceiling in the entry.  I like the smallness of it, how few things I have with me, and find myself plotting how I could live in a space that tiny, when eventually I have to live cheaply in a city somewhere.  What would I keep? discard? how would I furnish?  And it's all worked out in my head.  I would pretend to be Jo March; I'd live in a garret; I'd read and write; I'd eat poorly, and drink tea even though it gives me the jitters; I'd have a tiny, eclectic wardrobe; I'd be a hermit except for classes, and literary events; and eventually I'd meet my Professer Bhaer and we'd get married and my (imaginary) great-aunt would bequeath me her large rambly house in the country, and we'd run a school/orphanage, and I'd be very busy and very happy, and we'd eat as much as possible from our own garden and farm - no wheat, rye or barley, thank you very much! we don't poison our children - and I'd keep writing; I'd teach at a nearby college, and host tea and poetry nights, during which the students would happily play with the children then we'd all and laugh and read and eat and drink until the fireflies flickered goodnight.

I am finally learning to dream.