Head couple rip and snort …

Social dancing -- it's one of my soapbox topics. As in, we as a society don't do enough dancing just for fun, as a way to socialize with our fellow human beings, anymore. Oh yeah, "young people" go out to clubs and dance, and sometimes "women of a certain age" might drag their spouses to a mini course on ballroom dancing. But just to go to a dance for fun doesn't seem to happen all that often.

So, when I got an email from some listserv or other that I am on, announcing a square dance with a visiting caller and LIVE MUSIC on Friday night at our wonderfully funky WilMar Neighborhood Center, I had to go. (And I dragged my spouse, though it wasn't really much of a drag. He feels much like I do about social dancing. We were even joined by our 16 year old daughter later on in the evening.)

My main experiences with square dancing were, first in elementary school gym class in 6th grade ( a surprisingly happy memory, actually) and then at my alternative high school, where the only dances we had were square dances with a caller named Vern Weisensel from Sun Prairie. (I often wonder what he thought of calling square dances for a bunch of stoned wannabe-hippie kids in thrift shop finery … Who knows? Maybe he wasn't nearly so straight-laced as I remember him.) It was a great way to dance and socialize … you could be flirtatious, touch the other lust-filled adolescents, maybe even snuggle a bit, and then "Cab driver, once more round the block …" and you'd move on to the next person.

The caller last night was T-Claw from Nashville, TN. He takes the tradition of calling dances seriously, but he was anything but straight-laced. I knew I was going to like him when I opened up a copy of his square dance calling 'zine (!) Dare To Be Square and found this variation on the Virginia Reel:

All join hands, up and back 

Let's get our troops out of Iraq 

 Allemande right if it takes all night 

Allemande left, this war is theft …

As the evening progressed he was lounging back in his chair, a microphone in one hand and a beer in the other, calling out "Same old gent with a brand new girl, down the center and divide the world!" He was clearly having a good time. He seems passionate about getting people to participate. (Isn't that one of our great societal ills in the U.S.? People will pay big money to be consumers of lots of things, but it's harder to get them to participate -- not just in the arts, but in things like VOTING, for instance. But I digress.)

He was accompanied by Can I Get An Amen!, a really rocking quartet of old timey musicians (but definitely not old!) out of Chicago. I urge you to check them out. Not only did they play a good reel, but they threw in a couple of achingly beautiful waltzes (the most romantic of dances, in my opinion) and sang in glorious Louvin Brothers-type harmonies. Sigh.

Which leads me to another point. In recent years when I have attended folk events, it's been disconcerting to look around at the audience and realize that I am the youngest person there. (Although I still regard myself as 27 or 28, I'm nearly 53 years old, hardly qualified to be called "young", for Pete's sake.) I have frequently wondered what the future is of a lot of traditions which I hold dear, if the card-carrying young people aren't carrying them on. Well I'm happy (sort of) to report that at last night's dance Ed and I were maybe not the oldest, but among the oldest people there and there were an awful lot of youngsters ("dirty hipsters," my daughter informed me, and that's a good thing) dancing away. It did my heart good, it really did. Even when the sweet young man I was talking to asked me if I was retired.

So … meet your partner, pat 'em on the head, if they don't like biscuits, feed 'em cornbread, promenade across the floor, that's all there is, there ain't no more.

T-Claw "Breaking Up Winter" w/ the Georgia Crackers

Please give a warm welcome to guest blogger Daisy.

V BBB cvvvvvk, 230. .////////////////////////////////////////////
65555555555555555555555++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++.

We're lucky that she didn't barf on the keyboard.

Reading Fantasy

Raise your hand if you ever read The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle. Higher! I can't see it ... OK, leave a comment instead. The Last Unicorn was one of my favorite books at one point during my teens in the seventies. I mostly haven't thought of it in years, but last month I became obsessed with getting it into the hands of my daughters, who both love reading fantasy. I looked for it on the shelves of our big central library, but they didn't have it. They did, however, have some other books by Beagle, so I checked out a couple.

I didn't even know whether this author was still alive, much less still writing! (He actually wrote the screenplay for the animated Lord of the Rings movie that hooked young Peter Jackson on the book.) Tamsin was published in 1999, and I was blown away by how good it was. It is about Jenny Gluckstein, a sullen 13-year-old girl who has to move from her home in New York City to a farm in rural Dorset, England when her mom remarries. Determined to hate everything about the experience, Jenny is nevertheless sucked in when she meets Tamsin, the ghost of a girl who lived on the farm 300 years earlier. Tamsin introduces Jenny to a host of "creatures of the night" from Dorset folklore, all of whom play a part in solving Tamsin's mystery and freeing her so that she can finally rest in peace.

I loved how the story wove folklore with historical events. It was also a damned good teen girl angst novel, and I am hard-pressed to know how a 69-year-old man could capture the voice of the teenaged Jenny so well.

Reading Tamsin made me think about fantasy writing. As I said, my daughters are both crazy about fantasy. Their standards are high; the ultimate dis' of a book is "It's obviously a rip off of Lord of the Rings." They tend to like the writing of Tamora Pierce, and novels based on fairytales: Spindle's End by Robin McKinley and Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine are two that my eldest took to college with her last year. My youngest likes the writing of Diana Wynne Jones: Howl's Moving Castle, which you might know from the Japanese animé film. They both loved East by Edith Pattou.

I too enjoy reading fantasy, but there is so much being published right now that is mediocre, especially in the world of children's and young adult literature. I guess I am just bored by dragons, quests, and trilogies. Simply including wizards does not make a good fantasy either. I am tired of heroes whose names are derived from Aragorn. Maybe that's it: too much fantasy writing is derivative. I know that lots of fantasy is derived from old myths and legends, but it seems as if now we are getting derivatives of derivatives.

When I read fantasy I do not want it to feel self-conscious or contrived in any way. (I know that many people will strongly disagree with me on this point, but I found Harry Potter to be derivative, self-conscious and contrived -- especially after the first book. But I digress.) I tend to love fantasy that is rooted in old magic and folklore.

Here are some of my favorites: The Prydain Chronicles by Lloyd Alexander; The Dark Is Rising series by Susan Cooper; The Diamond in the Window, The Astonishing Stereoscope, and The Swing in the Summerhouse by Jane Langton; The Owl Service by Allen Garner. I had an aunt who worked in publishing and occasionally I would be the lucky recipient of a bag of books, galley proofs and what-not, so I got some interesting books that way. One that I loved -- now out of print -- was The Seal Singing, an environmental ghost story that took place in Scotland.

Enough pontificating. Check out Tamsin if you enjoy fantasy or ghost stories. One last thing -- in one of my ridiculous online impulse buys, I ordered 2 autographed copies of The Last Unicorn from the publisher, one for each of my girls. I hope they like it!

Whad'dya Think Of It Now?

Hours of tweaking and arranging, changing colors, changing fonts, adding a photo, removing a photo ... all with Enriched Geranium (whose computer I am using until our gummint rebate comes and I can replace my dead computer - thanks, Ed!) breathing down my neck because he thinks I'm being a COMPUTER HOG. I'm not a computer hog ... am I??? Do you like it? Is it bee-yoo-tee-ful? Should I change the background color, maybe to puce or mauve or even burnt umber? Or is white OK?

Note: Photo credit for the beautiful luminiferous ether in the header goes to Enriched Geranium.

Shooting the Messenger (in a Friendly manner, of course)

Pity the poor earnest young man, trying to earn some summer cash by canvassing door-to-door for the Democratic National Committee. He just came to my door. He got an earful. He got two ears full. And a doggy bag.

I give him a lot of credit. He listened. He didn't argue with me. He didn't ask me for a penny. I've had people call on behalf of the DNC who get all huffy and tell me I'm wrong, and on more than one occasion I've had to say, "Wait a minute. You called me, asking for my money! You had darn well be willing to listen to what I have to say!"

This guy said he'd been hearing a lot about impeachment. Yeah, I'll bet. Hey, Dimocrats! Anybody home? Are you listening?

Lost Madison

My beloved spouse, who goes by the blog name Enriched Geranium, had a recent post that got me to thinking about cool buildings that once stood in our fair city but came up against the wrecking ball, mainly because of greed and stupidity (and don't those two always go hand in hand?) He was listing venues where his old band, the Appliances SFB, used to play. One of those was Turner Hall, a downtown monument and beautiful building, that was torn down, yes, to put up a parking lot. I loved Turner Hall. It had a divey little bar in the basement, The Wagon Wheel, and the main hall hosted not only many local bands, but also Cycropia, an aerial dance troupe that uses trapezes in their choreography. I saw an amazing performance there where we sat on the floor and the dancers flew over our heads.

Our public library puts up an annual exhibit of photos called "Lost Madison." I find it quite depressing, actually. The one that really gets to me is a house called "Mapleside." It was a beautiful limestone house that stood on a main thoroughfare, and was built by the first white settlers to farm in this county. In 1970, despite tremendous public outcry, Mapleside was razed to make way for (pardon my language, I don't usually swear in print) a fucking Burger King. I was 11 when it happened, and I remember it very well. In fact, I've boycotted Burger King for most of my life because of that travesty.


According to my friend the historical preservationist -- I'll call her "Beth" -- Mapleside became the poster child for historic preservation in the entire country. Its demise sparked the movement to try to preserve many old buildings nationwide. Unfortunately, what often seems to happen now is, developers are required to survey the property, but ultimately many buildings are still destroyed in the name of progre$$.

Right now our city seems to be undergoing a massive transformation. What I consider to be the landscape of my childhood is being changed to something unrecognizable. I have no idea where developers are getting their money, because there certainly doesn't seem to be any around for things like schools, for instance. The university is one of the worst offenders, and I know who's paying for that, given the absurd annual tuition increases. What a bunch of money grubbers!

Can you believe the city tore down this boathouse, designed by a young Frank Lloyd Wright?
And then, years later, out of guilt, we got this "Wright-inspired" convention center shoved down our throats:

Sigh. Sometimes I feel like such an old curmudgeon, but it sure seems as if humans are about the stupidest critters around.

MIA Blogger

OK, dear readers. Time for a little life update. I love blogging for three reasons:

• I can't resist a soapbox.
• I love to write.
• I love the friendships and connections I've made here.

But sometimes I feel guilty [I do guilt really well] because I don't visit other people's blogs often enough. And then I metaphorically beat myself up -- in a most Quakerly fashion, of course.

Anyway, I have a ridiculously busy life as I'm realizing this Sunday afternoon, when several chickens are coming home to roost. (And I don't mean Cinderbelle, although as I write this she is on her way home for the summer.)

• I am still working to become certified as a school library media specialist. I am 140 hours of student teaching away from getting my initial license. Starting tomorrow I am taking a week's unpaid leave from my full-time job as a kindergarten teacher to go and student teach in a school library. The other 100 hours will be completed during the summer. I am very excited to finish this piece up, but it did mean that ...
• I had to spend hours this morning making up a week's worth of lesson plans for my substitute teacher. I've taught long enough that much of what I do is in my head, and it is work to articulate it for someone else. The good thing is, my sub was my student teacher in the fall semester. She knows me, she knows the kids, and she's excellent so if need be she'll improvise.
• I am also working on a master's degree in library science, which means I am currently taking a graduate level course in Information Architecture. I have 2 classes left in the semester, a major web design project due on 5/7 and a minor paper due this Wednesday. I hate this class, and having it be over will be a great big relief. I give the professor this though: being in his class made me realize that doing grad school in this way is not my cup of tea. There is such a disconnect between the proverbial ivory tower and the muck of real life. (And given the choice, I prefer the muck.) For all that this university makes a big deal about welcoming returning adult students, I don't see a lot of support for students like me. When I expressed my frustration to the prof one day when he was doing some finger wagging at us, he told me, "You are a disruption. If that ever happens again there will be severe consequences." I'm probably 15 years older than him, and he shamed and threatened me. No thanks. (If you recall, I was excited about this class at the beginning. The professor killed all that.)
  
• My youngest child is in a play, which requires a ton of driving. Luckily we have a great carpool from our neighborhood, but it still takes time.
• My car is dead, temporarily at least.
• I am on the board of directors for a summer camp, which is kicking into high gear as the camping season approaches.
• Oh yeah, we still have to eat. Although I've been doing just fine on Grape Nuts and microwave Annie's mac and cheese for the last week.
  

Anyway ... if it seems like I am not stopping by your blog, it's not because I don't want to. Summer's coming, and my time will be a little freer.

<3

Note to Molly, the wonder dog: When I said I preferred the muck, I meant it metaphorically, not that I wanted to scrub poop off the wall. OK?

Light Blogging

I suppose, if this were an exclusively Quaker blog, light blogging could have a double meaning. But what it means is that I'm really busy this week, between madly sewing stuff for the Holiday Peace Market (a.k.a. "No More Shopping Days 'Til Peace") that I've organized at my Quaker Meeting this coming Sunday, ferrying children for Ali Baba, having family visiting from out of town, and all the other bits and pieces of my life. I have some posts bubbling in my brain, they just haven't made it to the surface yet. Stay tuned.

You know what I'm REALLY sick of?

I'm really sick of former aides to George F. W. Bush publishing "tell all" books. Scott McClellan is only the latest in a long string of weasels (my apologies to the cute little animal above) who continues to profit off of the misery that has been visited on the world over the last 7 years.

If he knew it was wrong then, why didn't he say anything then? No, he had to wait until he had a lucrative book deal. I'm sure he'll be wringing his hands all the way to the bank.

It's times like these that I wish I believed in Hellfire and brimstone. I picture the Devil saying, "Sorry Scotty -boy. All of the mea culpas in the world aren't going to save your sorry ass!"

Sheesh.

(By the way, I have decided that henceforth I shall refer to the mean little alcoholic who is not my president as George F.W. Bush. The "F.W." stands for something not very Quakerly.)

The Cuddly Menace … Resistance Is Futile

You've all been so sweet, and I have a gift in return. Think of this as your virtual treat bag, and thanks for coming to my party.

A Headline from the BBC …

Rare dead star found near Earth

Elvis?

R.I.P. Merv Griffin

Now, why in the heck would I choose to eulogize television impresario Merv Griffin? Well, he was -- indirectly -- one inspiration for this blog. I first ran across the term "Luminiferous Ether" in a very funny and tender book called Prisoner of Trebekistan, comedian Bob Harris's account of being a five-time winner on the game show Jeopardy! Jeopardy! was Griffin's brainchild; in fact he wrote the famous "think music" as a lullaby for his son. Bob Harris calls it "the most lucrative lullaby in human history" bringing Griffin over $70 million in royalties.

Merv Griffin was also good friends with Ronnie and Nancy Reagan. Hmm. I guess everyone needs to have a good friend, right?

So long, Merv.