As expected, and noted in yesterday’s post (also published quite late in the day), I did not wake up early enough to write my entry for D… and then hubs and I had to rush off because his aunt and uncle, whom I had never ever met (and we’ve been together for like 12 years or something now, and known each other since 1989) were coming through town to visit.

And of course, although words and meeting challenges and not missing deadlines are important, people are way more important, and we had quite a lovely visit. (With big thanks to my sister-in-law for the meal, because although I am many things that start with the letter D, “domestic” is not one of them…)

So, I’m home now, with a midnight deadline looming over me (if I want my post to be date-stamped April 4), and I’m rambling on here like a loon… as usual…

However, I do indeed have a topic, and one I’m quite excited about. I did kick around the idea of writing about doubt, but I think I’ll save that for the series I plan on writing later, entitled So You Want To Be a Writer…

Instead, the topic I settled on is:

D is for Dreams & Dancing & Delight

Okay, so that’s three topics, but they go together, I swear.

Last January (2013), I went to Emory University here in Atlanta to see “E”, a dance performance by members of Catellier Dance Projects. Twas truly like nothing I’d ever seen… a blend of classical dance, modern dance, light, sound, movement… and I loved every second of it. I sat there, mesmerized, next to my birthday twin (my date for the evening), clicking away with my camera, not caring a whit what I might or might not have been capturing with each closing of the shutter.

And what I got, I think, as demonstrated in the three photos above (out of the 459+ I shot), was delightful. Plays of light. Even without hearing the music that accompanied the performance, seeing these images makes me want to get up and dance.

I always dreamed of being a dancer. But it wasn’t in the cards for me. For one, I’m pretty sure my parents were against dance lessons. (There’s an old joke about Baptists {which we were}: “Why don’t Baptists believe in dancing?” “Because it leads to sex”. Ba-dum. {Or the reverse: “Why don’t Baptists believe in sex?” “Because it leads to dancing.”} Ha ha ha.).

I’m also quite clumsy, but perhaps dance lessons would have helped with that, but who knows. I used to go dancing in clubs when I was much younger, and no one told me flat out I was a bad dancer, but I wouldn’t have been surprised that my friends thought it, and just tolerated my flailing on the dance floor. And now I’m a wee bit too self-conscious to dance in public, unless I’m really really drunk.

But there are bits that hint maybe I could have been good: I remember quite clearly sitting in the front seat of a friend’s car, he and I and a bunch of his friends who I did not know going to Disney World, my foot propped up on the dash, and one of his friends telling me something about me having the feet and legs to be a dancer, a thought which pleased me no end. And I am about 99% certain that I could have been trained to dance en pointe if I’d been given half a chance.

Obviously, it’s too late for me to become a prima ballerina, but it’s not too late for other dreams, big and small. Like finishing my book. Like creating art. Like helping others. Like finding delight in everyday moments, in flowers, in the purr of a cat, in having my dog curl up snugly on my feet. Or going back to St. Thomas someday.

In the meantime, I’m gonna turn my tunes up really really loud, and dance to my heart’s content.