Saturday: Ballet Academy Pop-up Concert, Middleburg, Virginia
There was so much talent packed into the hour-long concert. Alchemy Ballet put the Pop-Up Company program together in one week, with dancers ages 12 through 17, plus a few older special guests in the mix. One dancer has been traveling from Baltimore to Northern Virginia on a daily basis for the benefit of working with Alchemy’s artistic director Lorraine Audéoud Spiegler.
Afterwards Busy and I went to an outdoor Mexican restaurant with Lorraine and this remarkable dancer who started ballet at an early age. She shared with me that she has a hip condition which has plagued her for years, and sees an orthopedist regularly. A hip replacement might be in order in the near future.
Nevertheless, she has learned literally to dance around her disability. She said her chronic pain has made her more aware of how she moves, and as she said this, she slowly brought her hands up through the air in front of her, looking for a gesture that conveys the kind of somatic intelligence that she has acquired. “I know how to push myself and when I need to pull back.” Unlike some of us who ascend ladders too quickly and confidently when we are too old to be quick or confident.)
But what struck me in particular was the sense of mission she has. “You go to a specialist and they tell you, ‘You’ve got this condition, so you will never be able to dance.’ I was not prepared to give in to my disability. So I found another specialist who helps me do what I want to do.”
“I want to be an inspiration to others, an example of not giving up.”
I was impressed to hear her say that, and I told her so. Not everyone takes a hardship in their life and then thinks about how they might be of help to someone else.
Sunday: Washington Folk Festival, Glen Echo Park. Maryland
Over the course of the day I drifted among the six stages on the fair grounds. I watched the procession of the Foggy Bottom Morris Dance team I was part of forty-plus years ago. In a ballroom, there was Torcuato Zamora, an astonishingly talented 91-year-old flamenco guitarist accompanying the Furia Flamenca dance troupe. Would that I could age like this guy, is a thought that I am sure occurs to many. To top it off Torcuato sings with the rich smooth tone of a well-aged angel.
An informal Irish music jam formed a loose circle near the picnic area in the shade of some old oaks.
Later in the day I made my way to the Songs for All Ages stage that was sponsored by Carpe Diem Arts, the non-profit my wife Busy founded years ago. On stage was Munit & z Lovebugs: Munit Mesfin from Ethiopia with her three children Ayana, Meezan and Gabriel, ages 12, 15 and 19 — singing harmonies, playing tambourine, ukulele and electric bass, respectively. Their dad Jude was in the audience, first row, filming the set. As bandleader, Munit was cheerful, engaging and full of energy.
She alluded to the fact that her children were Ethiopian (through her lineage) and Haitian, through their father Jude; that Ethiopia is only one of two African nations that was never colonized; that Haiti was formed from the first rebellion of enslaved people against their colonizer; and so, she said with characteristic joy, that when her children get together “you never know what is going to happen,” which delighted the audience.
I am sure more than a few of us pondered the current state of those countries, each wracked by civil war and political chaos. And yet, here were these children singing their original song, Shine, written and recorded during the pandemic when they formed their family band:
Don’t you know that everybody is a friend, we
Haven’t got to know yet.
Everyone has a story and a light, they’ve
Got a glow - I can see it in you, so
Shine, like the star you are
Monday: Funeral Visitation for Family and Friends, Hightstown, New Jersey
Rae Rasi, the mother of our dear friend Jo Rasi passed away recently. We drove north to attend a couple days of gatherings with friends and family, a visitation, a Catholic mass, the entombment, and various meals. The last time I saw Jo’s sister and her children must have been 15 years ago, when they were in and out of a kiddy pool in our yard. Now, grown and matured, they are dressed in somber clothes befitting the occasion, and mingling with adults.
I overheard one of Jo’s nieces, Ona, talking about the process of getting her pilot’s license. She was describing a video taken of her in the cockpit during her first solo flight (accompanied of course by her trainer in the co-pilot’s chair) in which she was visibly nervous. Apparently she had been working toward that day for a while. The percentage of female US pilots is low — approximately 6-7% of licensed, non-student pilots. Ona wants to be part of the movement to improve on that ratio.
So, she is on that quest. Apparently she has always been the kind of person to pursue her interests and take on challenges with dogged persistence. She doesn’t know if she wants to be a professional aviator. After all, she is only 17 and just graduated from high school.
Tuesday: Villanova, Pennsylvania
I stayed with my sister at her house. We spent the time catching up, reminiscing, running a few errands, taking a look at projects in the house. It is difficult to convey how time spent with siblings can be so soothing, familiar and easy, whatever the setting.
We covered summaries of all our children and nieces. We reminisced about our respective college days. We looked through a book I had made of mom’s art collection, remembering who wound up with which paintings or objets d’art after she died, and which pieces were now distributed to our children. We went through the chronology of events leading up to the death of our sister Martha two years ago this month. We talked about grieving the loss of people and of our dogs; about books we’ve read; and we revisited anecdotes we have told each other in our long life together.
Unless you really study the construction of our conversations, you might not fully understand how they contain as much laughter as they do. But they do.
I spent an hour alone in the backyard pool, mostly drifting on a raft gazing dreamily at the overcast sky. Thinking about these people. The dances of their lives. The course of my own.
It was like floating in a David Hockney painting, letting the water take the lead, surrounded by large green pillows of boxwood under the towering watch of sweet gum trees, an ample magnolia, a ginkgo beyond that.
