She Danced Again

The Leif that has always danced provided the will and energy to The older Leif, and she rose to the occasion at the Walter Anderson Museum one week ago.

At Luther Dickinson's request I joined the four musicians for a gentler sort of recital in the round. My space was limited, odd shaped and strewn with obstacles. I began by kicking the battery-powered candles circling the drummer's kit, went on to send a woman's drink flying. She had placed it on the floor in front of her, and I was trying to navigate the yard and a half I had been allotted between drummer and first row of chairs. I guess I was not in my right mind when I neglected to ask that the chairs be moved. I am never in my "right" mind when I am about to dance.  

Actually I survived the first dance to sit between my daughter and my brother and enjoy the music of these talented musicians immensely. They played their way through the pieces inspired by my father's murals, interpreting the planets in marvelous eclectic ways, bouncing off one another, floating ecstatically upon the original compositions, creating anew the original power and the wonder. It reminded me strongly of my own approach to dance. No surprise that I couldn't resist rejoining them later in the program. My brother, John's, encouragement helped. 

Nothing shaky about that second dance, except my happy body moving for the pure pleasure of letting go.