#600 Sunday Goddess

Monday, March 13, 2006

Laverne on "Empty Nest": Those who help those who won't help themselves are stupid.

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Man, I'm so goddessed-out I can't even remember yesterday. Everything is all running together.

There were a few children at the fest. One particular little boy (6 years old?) was totally out of control all three days. If he wasn't running in circles and climbing on everything, he was up on the balcony that wrapped around the room throwing hats and napkins down onto the stage and dance floor, or running the circle around the balcony - thud thud thud while people were trying to perform. And his father sat there in dreds and rasta cap smiling at the kid. Like he was proud of him. (This IS Woodstock, after all.)

After I had left Saturday night, the kid knocked something glass off the counter, something made of very thin glass, so Sunday there were tiny shards of glass all over the floor, tracked everywhere. The girls dance in bare feet! So The Pixie and I swept the floor. And swept and swept. My comment was that I'd like to spank the kid's father.

I remember (and my memory is all mixed up now) only one group dancing Sunday, Serpentessa's advanced students. They were fun. One very pretty girl didn't smile the whole time - a few times she almost broke into a smile and then she quashed it. It's ok to keep a deadpan expression when dancing, but when you do, you should keep your eyes lowered, or look at your hands. That sends the feeling of shyness, or intense internal communion. Otherwise, deadpan audience contact looks like fear or boredom. If you look up, if you make eye contact with the audience, you really should have some expression. A smile, anger, challenge, flirtation, wonder, something.

There was a beautiful white-haired woman who played the guitar and sang. She was good, and enjoyable. But, well, it's Woodstock. I don't always "get" the music. Especially original stuff. And it was hard to hear the words over that rotten kid. She also sang one song in duet with the woman who sang at the harp on Saturday, and the harmony was very nice.

The Gypsy, the Pixie, and I walked to the art gallery to see the Dark Prince's work. I was expecting photographs, because that's what I know of him, but there was only one (amazing) photograph. The rest of his work was paintings, his chief interest. We've gotta get him to do some larger work for next year.

The owner of the gallery had some wood pieces of her own work displayed, double-sided panels about 7 feet tall, carved/painted/inlaid. I was very interested in one of them, and asked how much it was (I expected a high figure - the amount of work in them was amazing), and then found out that they were three of a four-part set, that, when finished, would sell for something like $170,000. Oops.

A postscript: Concerning the college group that danced Saturday, it turns out I called it right. They don't have an instructor. They just got together and started dancing.

Driving home, I took a side trip past the little four-room log cabin I had lived in when I first moved to this area. (The place in Ruby that I had showed you, Daughter.) Well, it isn't there any more. Instead, there's a big two-story colonial!

And another piece of nostalgia bites the dust.