Sunday, April 20, 2014


              I knew I wanted to write today but my last seven days have been rather a varied but jammed dance card and I fretted over topic.  As you may know today is Sunday.  More specifically it is Easter Sunday.  (I say this lest the reader infer that these posts are of little or no moment.  Rather, they do include significant facts.)  On this day, Christians world-wide celebrate today as one of victory and peace.  After a whirlwind of a week, having been greeted with paradoxically co-existent and unbounded awe and adoration seven days previous on Palm Sunday, (having arrived majestically on his ass) things went south as the days paraded forth.  The tidal rapture morphed into popular doubt and ultimate rejection culminating, as these downward trending spirals do -  in condemnation, accusation and mob wailing/shrieking demands for his crucifixion and death.
       But please know that this opening paragraph in no way implies - nor should you infer - that I'd just had one of those "Jesus weeks". It was nothing more than 'reportorial orientation' as it were.  Viewed as one of the trusted journalistic "W"s, it was a 'when'.  Easter Sunday.
       Still the topic remained my "bete noire".  Therefore I relied on my old friend serendipity.  I keep a particular book beside my bed - "Dance While You Can" - an anthology of saws that remind one to live life to the fullest.  (Let's face it, we all have days when we'd rather stay in beddie-bye.) So I decided to open the book in a desultory fashion and let the words on this random page guide my quill.  (Just kidding.  I recently bought a pencil.  Let's hope I didn't also need an eraser.)  Here we go:
VISUAL:  Feet in white Keds, first position, ballet.
WORDS:  I will not stand to the side
                 And allow the music in my heart
                To fade away and die.
                         I will dance to my own life's song.
       This past week was spring break for two of my grandchildren.  With the exception of Tuesday, we had made great plans to have lots of fun.  The happiness began on Monday with our trip to the zoo. 

seven year old Emma and three year old Charlie love animals.  I was told at the last minute that we were to be joined by our best friends, seven year old twins, as well as a third friend, a female.  Undaunted, off we went.
       Naturally, the assembled group was able to move along and view the furry end feathered creatures with greater speed than was the grandmother.  Nevertheless as they buggied, I waltzed.  (dancing to my own life's song as it were) And as one of my daughter's type A dear friends insisted on moving the group along at a steeple chase pace, I paused at will to capture the beauty of some of the more graceful though less exciting animals.
Graceful Ostrich
       Parting at a long day's end, we shoveled some soft yogurt smothered in toppings, into our tired faces and returned to our respective homes. For me, Tuesday was all about Dr. Appointments, errands and rest.  (I daresay I arrived at Tuesday on a very weary, non-majestic ass.)  This because on Wednesday we'd be heading north to Hampton.  There we went to tour the Air and Space Museum and enjoy an IMax performance of the "The Island of the Lemurs", narrated by Morgan Freeman. My passing up the opportunity to experience astronautical gravitational pull disappointed the children.  Stuff happens was the lesson.  Gastronomical pull won me over.  I chose to go home with my French-fried Funnel cake intact and in my GI tract.
Emma gettin' ready to do the "Lemur Hop"
       Even at their tender years, they understood the history of aviation's birth.  Having visited the Wright Brother's Museum on the Outer Banks, they were far more interested in the warp, speed, and drag of modern jets.  In that there was no dearth of the latter, I amused myself admiring the submitted art work of very young children in our area depicting air and space.  (The highlight of this day, I must point out, was the complete enjoyment by everyone of an extremely unusual dance performed by the real lemurs in Madagascar (the 'ring-tails', I believe) in the movie.  Eat your heart out, Bob Fosse - although I believe his was drugged out of existence.)
       All was said and done, but for the last outing.  We went to see Rio 2.  It seemed to bring color, light, smile, flight, quiet and speed together in a lively Latin finale.  In the end, they were always all together.  Lemur music in your heart, joy moving your feet and rhythm living in your soul, life is a never ending calliope.  Later, Lorane. . . .