Monday, July 25, 2011

Three Months Past Due Date. STILL pregnant with thought. . .

(This here, as they say where the ominous little 'nature shot' was taken, is what we call a "Nor'easter" down here.  They kind of sneak up on ya, middle of the day, evenin' - when a rainbow was just tryin' to be born at sunset, ANYTIME.  Honest.  Sneaky, strong, NO regard for the peace folks were tryin' to enjoy, or the fried chicken or jes the following of God's creatures, teachin' youngins the ways of the denizens of the sea, sky and dunes. They know too much 'bout the ways of the 'civilized' creatures in those new-fangled, monster-sized vacation 'cottages'.  Too much, indeed, ask me.)
     Well, dear readers, that's how these last three months have been for me.  Just came and went - sneaky-like.  And stormy, like Earl there.  I guess a lot has to do with end-of-year doings - recitals, playoff games, last-of-season doc appts - ENDINGS ALL.  Some were just too cute, too exciting.  But another time, maybe as the cuteness/excitement is - as always - in the eye of the beholder.  Others, though, may have some elements of what C. G. Jung might call, the "Collective Unconscious" - that universal, timeless, unseen, very shared "it" that makes us all - the race, not its infinite types, nationalities, dialects, etc, a fact in itself, is a blessing -ONE.   
  (I just got back from my evenin' stroll with our Beagle, Bridie, - who was one teed-off pooch 'cause the two days of West winds have been bringing those black 'parania'-flies, hungry as John-in-the-desert but much preferring pooch-nibbles to lizards.  I still walk with my Irish walkin' stick and tonight I did my best to use it as a gentle swatter so the poor hound could take care 'o biness.  And we met THE cutest new friend - she said it was a "soft-haired Wheaton", an Irish 'working dog', mostly white with some gray patches. floppy ears and DOESN'T SHED!  Rare enuff it wasn't an Irish "poet" dog like most of  'em, but non-shedder, too, that WORKS.  If THAT don't earn her a 2 - 3 times a week smoked salmon dinna, don't know what would.  Well, we got to see the beginnin' of a rainbow an' then you just 'feel' the wind start to change, the air cools a bit, the pace HAS to pick up 'cause we got a Noreaster comin' our way.  Minutes inside and I opened the blinds to watch the sand on the dunes start to swirl, the sea oats begin their Dirvish Dance an', 'course the "Tourons" head for the highest point of the walkway to watch the lightnin' an' listen in awe to Thor's rumblin'.  I swear, they inherit the "Dumb-Ass Gene" WITH their Trusts. FINALLY, one such in the rented 'cottage' to our left - 11 bedroomer - yelled "Get outta da pool!" to the 10 or so kids and their glassy-eyed traveling sitters.  Else it was gonna be a Kodak Karnage fer sure.)
      I soon lost interest in everything but the sheer power of the storm.  Harnass THAT and you could bring light and heat to the entire Midwest, Mr. President.  And if I could suck up but a smidge through my flexible straw, oh, the stories I could tell.  Like the dance recital.  NOT the dancing part.  It was about getting to know 2 of my granddaughters - well - differently.  Emma, began "Creative Dance Movement" 2 months after her classmates - NEVER having "taken" anything in her 3 years.  Molly began yr. 3 at age 5 and had added jazz to ballet and tap.  Would Emma do ANYTHING or just walk off?  Was Molly going to blossom into that "funny" musical theater person or lose interest?
     Sorry.  I did say I'd save it for another day - but it does help to fill in this 3-month writing hiatus of moi's.  In short, the little ones wore bright yellow tutus, black tights/ballet shoes + yellow silk flapper headband with giant red gerbera daisy on left side and hot pink tutus, black tights/tap shoes, white gloves w/ black continuation to elbows topped off (sorry) with miniature black, sparkly top hat, worn @ jaunty angle on left for "I'm just a Broadway Baby".  Their outfits alone = show-stoppers, the 2nd ending with them "gathering" in a group of 11 at the apron &, w/ hands to side of mouths, shouting, "Mista Produsa!  Im Talkin' Ta YOU Suh!"  Hats off to rpm Dance in Suffolk.
  Emma had other 'little surprises, too.  She had the 'moves/lyrics' down cold with her 150 or so IQ but every now & then, she'd drop out of character - far stage left NEXT to accompanying dance assistant, and kind of gaze down the line to see how her pals were doing.  Or spot one of us, gracing us w/ a proud wave. Obviously ALL tabu.  But the BEST was the Final Company Curtain Call.  Some dear soul was sacrificed in the wings to orchestrate timing/positioning, etc.  Babies went first.  Emma thought this dear soul had done such a wonderful, difficult job Saturday evening, that Sunday she INSISTED - by holding the lady's hand in a death grip and saying such that she could be heard, "Now you've been SO wonderful, you MUST take a bow TOO!"  Oye. 
     And one of Molly's  numbers ended with a pre-set tableau.  Dancing assistant standing center stage, became anxious when ALL movement stopped before the ending. As she sidled right, there was Molly, on a high riser, Upstage Center, directing the dancer down stage Right to KNEEL - as rehearsed. Kid finally knelt and SAME ordeal was repeated with Downstage Left dancer. After SHE knelt - as she'd been directed to do - "Good-Golly-Miss-Molly", knelt, putting the final, correct brush strokes on the tableau, thus ending this dancing instructor nightmare with a dazzling "Showtime, Folks" smile. Fathers chagrined, mothers apologetic, performers thrilled with their bouquets and Gigi - that's me b/c youngest, Mia, cannot yet get that hard "g" in "Grams" out - ever so proud and amused. Paybacks ARE Hell, you'll recall.  
 Molly's - 2nd from left - jazz costume hadn't arrived till JUST before showtime so ONLY the 9 or so dancers "knew" the joke.  They wore sparkly silver, fitted dresses, hemmed/trimmed in black boa, long black gloves and large-ish silver sparkly spectacles for "Supermodels" - a song all about your reputedly 'hum-drum' 9-5's determined to become models and "workin' VERY hard" to get there.  Again, THEY obviously had a ball doing it & the audience LOVED IT. 
 (The quiet is so loud now that the storm has passed, I can hardly think.  Sure it didn't get by y'all, tho.  REALLY crazy thing is there aint a Touron to be seen/heard.  Scared? Dead? Gone, please the Lord?  Well I aint checkin'.  Gotta rest up 'cause the husband's comin' down in the mornin'.  Been savin' lives in Virginia Beach ER's all day so could be cranky.  PLUS, just decided to - just can't get the ole "r" word out but he'll not be workin' in the ER - after 36 years - after August 15.  So there's a lot of pissin' 'n moanin' goin' on and parties 'n such .  I mean it's worse than "3 months past due" AND menopause. (Why is it called "pause"?  I mean stop is stop, no?  Hope so with the doc.)
     We shall commence with "ENDINGS" when we meet again.  And some sequitors are perfectly logical and some are non.  Later, Lorane. . . . . 

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