Catching air

When one door closes, another one certainly opens. Last night was to be my last night at the McDade workshop, but Sheila announced that she's extending the program for another 4 weeks after Memorial Day. Which is, frankly, awesome. I get another month of step dancing before going into ceili for the rest of the summer with Timoney.

Sheila worked us hard, too. She made us go over our jig steps and ran us through the ceili's we've done (High Caul Cap and Siege of Ennis) and then quickly taught us the beginnings of the Fairy Reel. After we ran through the Fairy Reel twice, she stared us learning reel steps (they have a very easy but very pretty beginner reel step that I quite enjoyed) and then taught us Jump-2-3s.

Jump-2-3s are one of my favorite things to do in Irish dance. It's those big leaps you see Irish dancers doing, and they are a staple of reels and slip jigs. 10 years ago my dad bought me ankle weights to help with the lift of these jumps. It's important to get high and have your front leg at a 90° angle and your back leg tucked under you, before switching out and landing on what was your back leg. Diddly Magazine has a nice little post on that moment in the air where dancers seemingly float before landing, complete with a video to demonstrate.

Jump-2-3s are kind of hard to learn, though, because in order figure it out at first you need to go slow to grasp the mechanics. But Jump-2-3s are best done with momentum; it's truly easier to do them faster than slower. The poor students in class last night who had never done a Jump-2-3 were really struggling. For awhile they looked like they were goose-stepping with little gallops in between and I remembered vaguely how hard it was when I first learned these in the basement of a Baptist church in Hershey. It's not something that happens overnight. Your body truly needs time to suss out the mechanics of it.

Eventually, Sheila had us line up and Jump-2-3 around the room to music (which, again, if you don't know how to fit it to the music, can be very frustrating). Imagine my surprise on my third Jump-2-3 when I started catching some serious air. I mean, I used to do these all the time, and I could get pretty high. But now I am 50 pounds heavier and out of shape. But muscles must really remember, because I could feel the air pushing against my face and felt the floaty moment happening. I caught sight of myself in the mirror for my next Jump-2-3 and even with jiggly belly, I was high. I mean, not as high as I could go if I was in shape, obviously, but certainly higher than I thought I would be able to go.

It was a nice moment, especially after last week's frustrating class. Reaffirmed for me that I am glad I am doing this and should have sucked it up and done it sooner.

However, I still suck at the treble reel.

Dance Setback

Major bummer.

I just found out that the regular step dancing classes I was going to take with Timoney have been postponed until the fall. Mainly because of lack of summer students.

Having spoken to Rosemarie Timoney, she advised that I come to the Monday night ceili classes all summer and hinted that she might show me some steps on the side. I am also hoping that once she sees me ceili dance she will scoot me into the intermediate classes instead of the beginner.

I was worried about this because this is similar to what Colye did every summer. Regular classes closed down and only ceili and championship level lessons were held. This is mainly because everyone's schedules go crazy in the summer and between holidays and vacations it's hard to teach new things.

I will be attending the ceili classes, for sure, because at least it's dancing of some kind. But as you can see from previous posts, I am itchy about learning and performing steps again. Perhaps I should make up a summer practice schedule for myself and just work on everything I learned from Coyle and most recently from McDade and concentrate on perfecting it all to make up for the 10 years out of dance.

Reel Bad

I realize that this is becoming an all-dance blog, but forgive me. It's one of the most interesting things I'm doing lately and I'm excited about it. It's either this, or talk about how mushy and lovey (i.e., gross) things have become with the Scotsman.* So you're going to have to deal with some dancing talk.

Last night we learned the treble reel. I was not good at it.

I'm not being falsely modest either. The entire night was rough for me, actually. It became abundantly clear that I had spent too little time (or uh, no time at all) practicing between last week's class and this week's class. I fucked up both jig steps, twice. Ouch.

I could make excuses about not having space to practice (which I don't) or being seriously tired going into class last night (which I was), but the fact is, I barely spent any time thinking about those jig steps in the past week. No, I was too busy obsessing over treble jigs, wondering if I could teach myself toe stands, daydreaming about fiesanna, and being antsy about learning slip jigs and hornpipes. I forgot the fundamentals. Which, if you recall, is the whole reason I was doing this McDade workshop. The fact is, I can't be good at treble jigs or slip jigs if I'm not good at single jigs. I can't be good at hard shoe unless I'm proficient in soft shoe.

It's times like this that I wish I had a hard-ass teacher. Sheila is good and all, but how hard-ass is she going to get with us during a 4-week workshop? Had I messed up those jig steps back in the day with Coyle, I have no doubt that Colleen would have made me done them over and over and over until I made it through at least three times in a row with no mistakes. And then she'd make me do it once more "for luck." I once joked and called Colleen a "slave driver," but I meant it in a good way. Her slave driving made me into a solid dancer. I'm hoping for some of that at Timoney.

In the meantime, I need to try to find some space to practice and spend time thinking about the steps. Something I used to do a lot of and I think Irish dancers do – or who knows, maybe all dancers do – is to sing their steps. Singing steps works well for Irish dancing because you have 8 bars of music that goes along with it. In singing steps, you not only memorize the actions, but it also helps you find the rhythm of dance and how it fits to music. Sometimes just listening to Irish music I have trouble recognizing if a song is a jig or reel...until I start singing my steps to it. 10 years later I still know all of my Coyle steps because I spent so much time singing them. It helps with the concentration, which I seriously lacked last night.

Learning the treble reel was tricky. The motions my feet make are actually quite easy. It's the speed and rhythm I'm having issues with. Namely that I can't hear how it fits with the music. This is problematic. I got a quick taste of how those in the class who've never danced must feel when we put regular jig steps to music because I was lost. It's wickedly fast and eventually I stopped trying to dance it and just tried watching others so I could figure out how it breaks down with the music.

In the meantime, it was probably good for me to get knocked down a peg with this class. I was feeling a little cocky and getting ahead of myself. Deep breath. Let's try it again, concentrating on fundamentals.

*Seriously you guys, head over heels.

Confidence on building confidence

I linked to this video two posts ago and now I've become obsessed with it. I love all of these treble jig steps.

Returning to dancing after 10 years is both rewarding and frustrating. I've talked before about how I'm currently rebuilding my stamina and working on little things: new single soft jig steps, ceili dances, pointing my toes, lifting my legs, trying to remember grace. But I’m itching to be back where I was when I left off. I wish I had never stopped dancing. Stupid college, getting in the way.

I’ve missed so much of this. These girls are good (I estimate most of them are prizewinner level-dancers) but most of them are lacking definition in their trebles. It’s like a certain confidence – the girl in the pink is the best at being authoritative with her step – you have to want to pound those steps out. I never tired of making noise. I loved how loud I could be.

In almost everything, I am unconfident. My self-esteem rises and falls; I lack assurance. In the back of my head I question I am doing this right? Is this OK? I am awkward and wavering in all I do. Dance was never like that for me. Competitions rarely made me nervous. I performed with ease. My dad called it “owning the floor,” the way I would carry myself so the adjudicator would watch me instead of the other girls. Even when I didn’t win, or scored poorly I would not become insecure. Disappointed, yes. But never doubtful.

Returning to dance I am doubtful. I’m nearly 30. I am much fatter. My jumps are low. But then I watch that girl in the pink and I remind myself that I can do this. I have done this. My body just needs to remember.

(Cross posted from Tumblr)

Photography Class

The delightful, generous, and always hilarious duo of Jim and Stephanie gifted me with a two-hour private photography lesson for my birthday. IKNOWRIGHT? I am stoked, to say the least.

I need to take a portfolio of images with me for assessment so I'd like some recommendations. What say you? Do you have a favorite photo that I've taken? Let me know!

Don Dorcha

Week two of Irish dancing went pretty well. I arrived slightly earlier than the previous week (last time I barely had enough time to put my shoes on before we started the warm-up and I wanted to get some extra ankle exercises in before class this week) and the waiting area was packed with young dancers practicing steps, doing each other's hair and generally mucking about. The majority of the dancers were high-school age (I overheard much discussion about prom) and it gave me a twinge of nostalgia for when I was in my senior year and really taking off in dance.

Initially I thought all the kids hanging around were from the previous class, but then I discovered they were there for a special camp as they gear up for Nationals. I saw two guys running around with the kids, making them do laps around the building and ushering them in herds from the waiting area into the second studio. So McDade has male teachers! I thought. Cool.

My teacher (Sheila) got my hopes up for the lesson right away: After reviewing the work from last week we would learn a second jig step and then she would teach us a treble reel step. True confession time: I've never learned a treble reel. I was too busy struggling with my treble jig (which, maddingly, I never placed in competition). Treble reel is a hard shoe dance that you'll see a lot of times in dancing shows like Lord of the Dance and Riverdance, and I was surprised that she was going to teach us a step – it's pretty advanced. I don't know if she just humoring adults who want to be clacky or if she was trying to keep those of us who've previously danced engaged or what. Either way, I was stoked. Just knowing how to properly count out a treble reel would be a big help to me.

Already I can see marked differences in my body: The warm-up no longer did me in the way it did last week (the McDade warm-up is heavy on the cardio and lighter on the stretching), and I had much more stamina throughout the class.

The second jig step threw me a bit. You know what they teach you about muscle memory? It's all true. Last week's jig step* was different enough from Coyle jig steps that I could pick it up quickly and just add it in my jig repertoire. This second step, however, shares some common elements from my old steps so my body gets confused. Instead of hop-one, hop-two, hop-one-two-three-four it's now hop-one, hop-two, hop-three and UP!-two-three-four-five, and yet, my legs forget this at the last second and suddenly I'm doing a McDade/Coyle hybrid jig step.

We completed learning the body of the High Caul Cap, which was interesting because we had a couple people in the class who were not there for the previous lesson. It consisted a lot of "No, no, go here now" and lots of dragging of partners about. When Sheila announced that we would learn the first figure next week I had to chuckle when one of the ladies in my group whispered, "You mean there's more?!?" Yes. There's at least three figures, and between each one is the body we just learned. So, yeah. Stamina. I forgot how exhausting ceili's can be.

By the time we were done with the High Caul Cap, I knew we didn't have enough time to begin the treble reel. Boo-urns. Hopefully next week. I'm finding myself anxious to begin my lessons with Timoney so I can learn more proper steps and work on other dances: reel, hornpipe, and my beloved slip jig.

Since we still had time before class was over, the teacher invited the kids who were going to Nationals to come put on a bit of a show for us. And that's when I learned the guys who were there teaching them weren't McDade instructors. Not at all. Nope. They were two former principle dancers from Lord of the Dance. Both had played the Main Evil Bad Dude in the show for a number of years. They were there for a special workshop with the camp. I was both thrilled and embarrassed. Thrilled because whatever my feelings about Michael Flatley (bit of a ponce), that's just damn cool. Embarrassed because my spudly body and clunky knees currently make me a wreck of a dancer. Both of them however (and here's where I also feel bad because I didn't quite catch either of their names) were lovely and brilliant dancers. I don't know how long they've been working with the kids, but they were great with them and as the students began to show us their steps, they would hoot and holler for them. Can you imagine? Having a professional dancer not only teach you and help you prep for Nationals, but then cheer you on as you performed! Lucky kids. The two professionals were very humble as well and when Sheila tried to get them to dance for us, they got all red in the face and demurred. But with enough encouragement they both did a step for us. Like I said, brilliant dancers, the both of them.

Last night when I talked to the Scotsman, I teased him. "They wanted me to run away with them and be their dancing colleen," I told him. "They wanted me to go back to Belfast and live in their flat. But I said 'No. Gentlemen, I thank you for your kind offer but alas, my heart belongs to a handsome New Jersey man in a kilt. Also, my jump-two-threes are pitifully low. I could never be the colleen you want me to be.'"

"Oh, is that how it happened?" he asked.

In truth, I skittered out of class too embarrassed to talk to either of them. But we'll keep that just between us.

*This would be a good time to explain, in case I never have, that a "step" in Irish dancing is 8 bars of music, leading once with each foot. So if you look at those videos I've linked, when each girl steps forward she performs one complete step, leading first with the right foot and then doing it again leading with the left. So there's lots of components that can go into making a steps.

Owowowow

I just had my first dancing class and all I can say is: OW.

I am so ridiculously out of shape, the warm up alone took a lot out of me. Making matters worse, there are large mirrors along one side of the studio. When I was dancing before we were dancing in church basements and fire halls, not fancy studios, so I find mirrors a bit distracting at first. But after a few minutes, I can usually focus enough to ignore the mirror completely.

However.

What I could not ignore was the reflection of every part of me jiggling: tummy, thighs, etc. Ugh. I can't believe that I've let myself get this overweight.

No matter. Dance classes are a part of trying to control and reduce that weight, so already I feel better about it. But for vanity's sake next week I will wear a looser t-shirt and longer shorts/pants. Good grief.

The class is large, and a nice mix of people who've never danced before and people who have. We didn't go around saying our names, backgrounds, or anything so I have no idea who anyone is. As we were leaving class, I thought I detected some Irish accents among three of the ladies, so it seems we have some authentics in this class. We also have a boy!

Having a guy in the class is sort of exciting for me because they're so rare – at least in my old school. I think at Coyle we had maybe two boys. And one of them was my cousin, Sean. Any guy who gets into Irish dancing is smart because the ratio is so awesome (in my class tonight, it was 26-1), so he can have his pick of the ladies.

This guy is somewhere around my age or younger, and you can tell he's previously danced or still currently dances. He seemed chummy with several of he girls already and they all seemed to know the instructor. So maybe he does/did dance with McDade? In any event, boy has jumps to die for – excellent height, fantastic control. Also: Calves of rock. It made me long for my calves in high school, which used to be so muscular and slender.

Since I'm looking at this class as a primer for beginning with Timoney in June, I tried really hard to focus on small things throughout the class: pointing my toes, my posture, turning my toes out, kicking up high in the back. Which is, admittedly, hard when you're just starting up again after 10 years (oy).

The class moved quickly: warm up, jump-2-3's, simple soft jig step, beginnings of a ceili dance (High Caul Cap, which I know I learned with Coyle, but for the life of me could not remember). The class just whizzed by, and even with my out-of-shape, dumpy self, I couldn't believe it when the instructor said the class was over. Further proof that I need a class environment and fun movement to trick myself into exercising. Because for me an hour at the gym is an eternity, but I was begging for more after this class.

I came home and had so much pent-up energy from the class, I pulled out my Jean Butler Masterclass DVD. Jean Butler* is the former principle dancer from Riverdance, and while the DVD can be used by anyone, it's really beneficial to dancers because she breaks down a lot of the fundamental components of Irish dance steps. She has whole workouts devoted to toe points and arches or leg lifts and balance. It's really something I should have been doing all along, but I rarely pull this out because I lack proper space to truly dance. Finding space in my apartment to practice is really tough and truly frustrating. Still I did the best I could in my bedroom.


Already I can feel my legs stiffening up, and I know tomorrow I will be hobbling about the office. The other thing that happened in class tonight is that during some routine 7's in the ceili, I landed wrong on my weak ankle – the right ankle, the one I badly sprained in my final year of dancing. I was able to recover quickly, but this serves as a lesson that I should probably start doing ankle exercised daily and maybe think about wrapping it for the next class.

So to recap: Dancing fun but my body needs to slim down. I feel clunky and sore, but happy and exhilarated. Siamsa!

*My fun Jean Butler story: My first feis (competition) ever, the authenticator was Jean Butler's teacher. Needless to say, I was geeked and intimidated, and add onto that, a bundle of nerves about my first ever competition. I ended up taking three first places (jig, reel, hornpipe) and one second place (slip jig) in the competition, which still makes me proud to this day. I don't know if this is a reflection of me or the other dancers, but I still can crow that Jean Butler's teacher liked me the best in three dances!

Beltane reflections

Last year at Beltane I was feeling a bit lost and most lonely. Things with Brisket had just fizzled out and I was left contemplating why. I have a habit of turning things around on myself and it wasn't because he was emotionally immature or using me (both things which are very true), rather it was because I am wretched, fat, dorky, and not worth his time.

Going into Beltane I was trying to change that perception of myself – repeating mantras that I may be flawed, but I am also beautiful, like a Persian rug with a mislaid thread. Telling myself that I am kind, clever, giving and fun, having much to offer in friendship and love. For whatever reason, the nice things are harder to believe about yourself, especially when you've just been spectacularly rebuffed by a 28-year old knob who lives in his mother's basement and works at a movie theater. Still, I practiced saying these things to myself, over and over.

When I arrived at Beltane, I sat for awhile in a corner, weaving myself a crown of flowers and repeating my mantras. And then he walked in.

I noticed him immediately and as cliché as it sounds, my heart palpitated a bit. I had never seen him at an Open before. He was dressed in all black, with a simple pentacle hanging around his neck. He looked muscular and fit, and he had deep dimples when he smiled. I was smitten.

Trouble was, I had no idea who he was and I was seriously lacking confidence to just go over and talk to some stunningly hot guy who randomly shows up to Sabbats. And yet, a little voice in my head argued with me, remember your mantras. Remember that you are worth his time and consideration. So I compromised. I would flirt with him from afar and make him come talk to me.

All through the ritual I gave him come-hither eyes. As we danced around the maypole, I would smile and wink at him when we came face to face while weaving our ribbons. When the drumming and dancing began, I made sure to wiggle my hips a bit more when I was near him. During the feasting I sat close-ish to him and hoped that he would overhear parts of my group's conversations and join in.

It didn't work. Even though we locked eyes several times and even though he always returned my smiles, he never spoke to me. I left Beltane feeling rejected again. I tried to comfort myself, acknowledging that I knew nothing about this person – he could be married, or have a non-pagan girlfriend, or be gay, or turn out to be a jerk. It was cold comfort, to say the least, and if you read my entry from last year, you can sort of tell how sad I was feeling.

I'm not going to draw the suspense out any longer: That hot guy turned out to be the Scotsman. I didn't see him again for another 5 months. In the interim, I learned that he had "asked" about me, but that he was going through a divorce -- making him off limits in my book. I promised myself I wouldn't flirt with him because he was emotionally scarred and probably not ready for a relationship. I would be nothing more than a rebound girl. I would behave and be only a friend to him. But when we met for the second time, it was like we were magnets. We couldn't keep away from each other.

I just woke up in his arms this morning, and I couldn't be happier.

===

This year the Scotsman and I were asked to be the May King and Queen for Beltane. I was ecstatic, to say the least. But the Scotsman was unsure – his personal coven had their Beltane the same day. "We can do both," I told him. "We can fit both in, the times don't overlap that much." I encouraged him to tell his high priestess that he had been asked to do this, sure that she would be pleased and proud and insist that he be the May King. His coven is so tiny (only 4 people) and they never start on time. If he just asked, maybe they would push their Beltane back an hour.

But the Scotsman was unsure and wanted to be loyal to his coven. As someone who is well-versed at scheduling lots of things into her life, this was frustrating to me. I so wanted to do this with him – it felt like a perfect circle to last year's Beltane.

But I held my tongue. I let him decide where he wanted to be for Beltane and make the call. We declined to be May King and Queen. And he planned on being with his coven and I planned on being with both the IP and his coven. I swallowed my disappointment.

Then yesterday, two hours before the IP Beltane began, the Scotsman called me and asked if he could come with me. I was simultaneously thrilled and frustrated. See, I thought. We will have time to do both.

Since we declined on being May King and Queen, the IP hadn't found another couple to take on the roles. So the May King and Queen would be decided by fate. During the ritual the single ladies lined up and drew stones from a pouch.

I drew the odd-colored stone.

Some things are meant to be. I obviously chose the Scotsman as my May King (how could I not?) and led him on a merry chase for my crown.

Happy Beltane, everyone.