The Evening Thoughts

Dear Bloggy Friends:

Do you use POST OPTIONS when posting on your blog? It's so handy. Click on it..... located on the Left bottom corner. I usually write my post at night, set the options for the next day at 2 AM and wake up to it already posted and catch followers on different time zones.
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Today I had to go to a tiny town by name of Whitehall in Montana. (Sounds so British). But in truth, it doesn't even have a stop light. They did recently put in a 4-way stop. They THINK big. :)
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Are you a one-book-at-a-time reader? Or do you begin 5 or 6 books and read from one to another? Would that be called multi-tasking-reading books? I start reading many books and usually drop the pitifully boring-books. I'm doing two re-reads (from ancient times and enjoying every minute). Forever Amber by Kathleen Winsor and Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. History does repeat itself.
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I have 2 dance classes going. East Coast Swing and Country 2-step. I had wanted to take videos at the beginning and again after 6 weeks but the students were going to smash my camera so I nixed it. Mob rule. :) I had to teach myself the 2-step from a tape so I can teach the man's part. Both classes are progressing but no Fred and Ginger at this point.
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Are you betting people? Let's see your money. I bet that no one can watch this video and NOT get the tune stuck in their brain all day.
That's all that is on my brain. Adios Bloggy People.
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G is For Gaffes Galore

A-Z Blogging Challenge. Today is G for Gaffes Galore

Although my theme is Flamenco, I'm giving Bloggie readers a little break today . I'm going to tell you about a few of my social blunders of Ballroom Dance. Along with Flamenco, I also competed in Ballroom for 25 years.

My partner and I were sitting on folding chairs waiting to go on. When our names were called I got up and proceeded toward the dance floor. I thought my skirt felt weird but as we stepped onto the floor someone rushed up and grabbed the chair I was dragging behind me. It got caught in my skirt and I was about to begin a Viennese Waltz with a chair attached. What a way to begin a dance. It took a while for me to live that down.

Before couples are called to the floor, nervousness reigns supreme. A young couple, competing for the first time, looked up to my partner and me as role models because we were seasoned dancers. When they finished their dance, they rushed up to us for comments, asking, "How'd we do? How'd we do?" Being nervous myself, I answered, "At least you didn't fall down." I can't recall saying that but what a let-down for the young couple who were expecting positive feedback. My partner still reminds me about that remark.

Judges are positioned around the edge of the dance floor with their clipboards. During a quickstep my partner went into some strange patterns that I was having trouble following. Behind a big smile like a ventriloquists dummy, without moving my lips, I said, "What the H--- are you doing?" But just at that moment he turned me and I said it directly to one of the judges on the sideline. My lesson from that was, "Shut up and follow."

We had Gaffes Galore.

Roll Out The Barrel, We'll Have a Barrel of Fun

Even if you think a Polka is a hick dance, I'll bet you can't listen to one and keep you toes from tapping.

In the beginning of my International Ballroom quest, I was a dance snob. Growing up in Minnesota, Polka-land dance State of the Union, I thought I was beyond polkas and headed for the sophisticated English dance. Imagine a child of the Great Depression being a snob about anything, but I'm ashamed to say I was.

I had several dance partners in my 35 years of ballroom competition but the one I had the longest was a Polish guy from the Baltic ethnic area of NE Minneapolis. He had fantastic rhythm and had won polka contests all over the state before we danced ballroom together. He kept asking me to come Polka dancing for recreational dancing. I kept refusing.

After a couple years, I put on a full skirt, Cuban heels and walked in the door of Czech Hall. OMG.... I've never had such a lively, exhilarating, just plain old good time. People were there in their native Baltic costumes, dancing the Polka most of the night. That did it, no more snob. We continued to dance ballroom, but at least once a week, headed for the Polka spots.

My husband's life was mostly baseball. He refused to dance but encouraged me to pursue my hobby and passion of dance. He'd watch my ballroom but couldn't keep his toes quiet during a polka. Can you?

Love at the Quick Lube, Well Almost

I've known some "gear head" women who love to change their own oil. Yuck. I just drive a car. I don't ever want to know what's under the hood.

It's oil change time by the little sticker on the wind shield. That nasty time-waster job of leaving the car in line at the Quick Lube, sitting on dirty vinyl and chrome chairs in a waiting room that smells of motor oil and reading greasy "Mechanics Magazines."

I threw on a pair of jeans, a sweater and no make-up. I'd match the dreariness of the job. I just wanted to get it over with.

Good. Only one car ahead of me. I went inside and settled into the lumpy archaic chair with my kindle that I remembered to grab. Soon, I was absorbed in "High Heat" and oblivious of the surroundings.

I heard a man's voice from a couple of chairs down, ask, "Aren't you Manzanita?"

Oh crap, just my luck to run into someone I know when I leave the house without make-up. An 80 year old without a hint of make-up is not something you want to see outside of a nursing home. I looked up from my kindle into the handsome face of Leon, one of the best ballroom dancers in the area. Double Crap. No wonder he had to ask if it was me. Ballroom dancing calls for lots of make-up and a filmy swishy dress. That was how he'd always seen me.

We chatted and I got caught up on the ballroom news. I had dropped out of social dancing due to lack of a partner. Leon is not only a handsome older man, but a gentleman of the old school. We always danced when Sharon, his dance partner was out of town.

I know you're reading faster and with anticipation. Is this going to be the beginning of a twilight, passionate love affair for Manzi? Well, is it? Hate to disappoint you but no zinging Cupid's arrows.

Oh, but he did say, "Sharon's leaving for Arizona for the winter. How about being my dance partner?"

My car was ready. I said, "Sure, give me a call."

Where Is All The Talent?

Rah Cheer. In the grave yard. People take their talents with them. They've spent a lifetime honing a talent and by god, they'll take it to the grave. Imagine their scintillating literary discussions, their juerga's, their ballroom competitions, athletic endeavers, their music, plays and paintings. All the best talent in the world, right here beneath the frozen crust of earth. What if everyone left one protege, one clue to their talent? Could it actually irradicate much of the crime if people's spare hours were taken up with pursuit of their art? What would it cost older creative people to donate a few lessons to eager young students?

I've danced all of my life but the number of birthdays make me see the writing on the wall. (Plus most of my friends are dead and that's a broad hint!) In spite of the fact that I'm as American as Jimmy Cagney, Flamenco has always been my main dance. Not that I've been a star dancer but after hanging in there for 60 years, I've soaked up enough knowledge to inspire some younger women. And I do. I share my Flamenco knowledge with two talented young women and I also freely share my 30 years of ballroom competition with young dancers.

My love for Flamenco was a gift from gypsies who lived outside of Algiceras, Spain during the Korean War. I accepted their friendship and dance instruction and now it's my turn to pass on the gift.