Category: Miscellaneous

As I’m on my own and far from home, I’m free to take on challenges that, honestly, I probably wouldn’t dare if I had a life based in one geographical location. Out here, the consequences of failure are low. 

I’m about three miles from the necessary things in life: Walmart, Starbucks, a hospital. On that three mile drive, just before the open fields that showcase the sunset, is a small strip of shops. In that strip is a dance studio called Theatre Dance Academy.

I’m not a dancer. I’m barely coordinated enough for step aerobics sequences. But when I was small, my parents drove me into town many times so I could dance with my church group. Someone anonymously provided me a pair of shoes: I still remember that trip to Buster Brown’s to fit my shoes and proudly making all my friends admire them at my birthday party. I wore the little white leather slippers and practiced every chance I got.

Later, long after I’d outgrown those shoes, I sewed together an enormous length of yellow fabric into a circle skirt. A self-conscious preteen, I twirled magical midsummer afternoons away to Enya’s Shepherd Moons while my family played outside. 

So the little dance studio drew me. Why not? I went inside on pretense of castle business. Inside, preteen girls in leotards and white tights fluttered around. At the little front desk, a reed-thin brunette with kind, soft brown eyes smiled at me. Her name was Sarah and when I asked for prices she unfolded from behind the desk and ran lightly for a pamphlet. She was wearing gym shorts, white tights and worn leather slippers. 

I committed to an intermediate class on Monday night, then bought white leather dance slippers at Shreveport Gymnastics. “Are you like a dancer or something?” frankly asked the associate helping me fit my shoes, and I chuckled. Not really, but why not get the shoes?

Tonight I showed up early for Sarah to inspect my shoes, which suddenly felt silly and much too large. “They’re fine!” she encouraged me. She was tired from being at work since 4:45 a.m. but still had a loving aura. 

Class started! Everyone in my class was between twelve and fourteen. They were unfazed by my presence and chattered amongst themselves as class started. They were all preparing for the Royal Academy Dance Exams. To my delight, I could keep up with about three-quarters of the exercises! Then they got too difficult, and I was a supportive audience member as the girls practiced their dance for the March exams.

We filed out of the dance room, tired and happy. Across the way another class started. “Emily!” I asked the studio owner, who was walking by. “Is that the modern dance class?”

Emily shrugged. “She was with Cirque du Soleil,” she smiled. Emily has a halo of blonde curls and stands 5’2″. “Sometimes it’s a very traditional ballet; sometimes she mixes it up.”

I stood and watched, putting my street shoes back on slowly. This was a more advanced class with older students. I could see their passion for dance, and was glad I joined in tonight; I was glad I took this dare. They were dancing to an old song from the eighties…
and all my instincts, they return

and the grand facade, so soon will burn

without a noise, without my pride

i reach out from the inside

– The Dauntless Princess –

The mother of all storms, Hurricane Patricia, hurtled toward North America’s western coast last week. But she dissipated against Mexico’s rugged terrain and in fragments drifted, drifted across Texas up to our little Bayou in Louisiana. Only the rain reached us: buckets and buckets of rain, pouring hour after hour, then day after day, drenching the parched soil deliciously.

The bayou had been dangerously low; even the unhurried birds had deserted for deeper water. Patricia’s rains changed all that. What was last week a foot or two of muddy trickle has risen to five or six feet of water, moving slow and steady by.

  
Something about running water currents beckons you to follow, doesn’t it? I left the safety of the sidewalk and tiptoed down beside the water, seeing where it led me, careful not to sink in my heels… And there were the beautiful, gloomy cypress trees with knobby trunks strong against the water’s pull. 

  
And further down, the river broadened. The water twisted and unfurled elegant ribbon designs in the green algae, which had grown on the water’s surface in last week’s stagnation but now could not lie undisturbed.

  
The soft ground turned to a better path again where the trees thinned. 

  
Patricia, thank you for the rain. We’ll keep it in the Bayou, nursed by the willows and guarded by the cypress.

-The Dauntless Princess-

I didn’t have to live in Bossier-Shreveport, Louisiana for long before I realized there’s ALWAYS something going on in this town. There’s always a show, a fundraiser, a county fair (opening this weekend!!!!), or… a craft fair.
A friend had told me her sister had a booth selling boutique clothing at this craft fair. I was in a shopping mood and boutique clothing always = yes anyway. So I paid my five dollars not to win a door prize and went in.

In the end, I escaped having only spent $15 on a cute ruffled dress. But there was so much more! Booths for miles full of clothes, local crafts and delicious treats. Here are a few snapshots:

Cinderella and Elsa made an appearance too:

 I loved getting a chance to be out with the fine people of Bossier. They’re open and friendly, down-to-earth people.

One little girl, though, was crying passionately. “It’s the clowns,” her mother explained to passers-by, trying to pull her daughter out. The clown culprit, standing at the end of the row, looked apologetic and turned away. “How old is she?” asked one lady from a booth. “Eight,” the mother responded. “Oh,” said the booth-sitter in disapproving tones, appearing to judge the girl too old for such conduct. I side with the eight-year-old because, let’s face it, clowns are terrifying.

But the craft fair was a blast, and Bossier’s autumn will continue under the brilliant blue sky. Bring on the whirl of gaiety!

And don’t send in the clowns.

-The Dauntless Princess-