Tag Archives: music

Dance Like No One Is Watching

I don’t understand why someone created the catch phrase “Dance Like No One Is Watching”. I just… What? Huh? Hmm..

I will dance. I will dance if someone is watching, I will dance if no one is watching. I could care less if someone thinks my dancing is good or bad. I could care less if someone else’s dancing is good or bad. I only care if they are or are not getting down next to me on the dance floor.

I am a dancer. I’m not a classically trained ballerina or a hip hop master. Although, I have been asked where I learned to dance like that…(The answer is Sisters 3 Dance and hundreds of hours of wedding receptions)…although, on second thought, my mother-in-law may have been politely inquiring how her daughter-in-law could act like such a hussy…

I will be dance. Since the 6th grade, I have given my whole being into dance. At the end of the pre-teen co-Ed dances at the local church, I left drenched in stinky sweat with my Aquanet bangs stiffly hanging in my eyes only despairing that the dance was over, not that the boys saw me at less than my finest. As an adult, I don’t understand why my friends stand around at the 50th birthday party chatting with people we talk to every week when there is music and a dance floor, things we DON’T have every week.

I don’t understand. How can you not dance? How is it that you need to talk yourself into dancing? Truthfully, however, I think slow songs are only good for when nature is calling, but, also only for ballet dancing in my kitchen.

Frankly, I do have dancing every week. Just no one is watching.

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Holiday Playlist

The broadcast of the Chilean miners trapped in the mine struck a cord with me. It wasn’t that they were trapped in a horrifying situation, although, that alone was also a striking image. It was that these men were filmed emphatically singing their national anthem.

This was just a reminder of a lesson I Iearned in my early twenties when I started fraternizing with the Latvians. I frequented parties where nary an English word was spoken. Nearly twenty years later, I still don’t understand the language. So, why would I repeatedly return to that environment? Maybe it was the singing. Sure, as a newly legal drinker, I enjoyed exposure to after hours parties. I’d watch twenty (plus or minus) men and women close their eyes and sing praise to the motherland until the wee hours of morning. Ever much the outsider in these occasions, I found I was still drawn to them and their love for the birth land of their parents.

Envy grew. I wanted what they had. I learned from the Latvians that I wanted to be a tried and true American.

Then again, when the Chilean miners were trapped, their choice of song to keep their spirits raised? The Chilean National Anthem. Can you imagine what songs a group of trapped American miners would sing? Mmmmmmm, Take This Job And Shove It?

Last Independence Day, I started a new family tradition. I created a playlist on my iPod to be played during the fireworks. I wanted to capture that patriotic feeling I’d witnessed elsewhere and introduce it to my children. With any luck, whenever they see fireworks, they will hear The Battle Hymn of The Republic in their heads.

Here’s a short list to include in your next holiday playlist:
The Star Spangled Banner
Battle Hymn of The Republic
The Stars and Stripes Forever
Grand Old Flag
Anchors Aweigh

It’s a bit heavy on the John Phillip Sousa side but mom always said, “There’s nothing more patriotic than a John Phillip Sousa march.”

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photo from West Bend Memorial Library

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Happy Wetland- A Review

Nine years later, I discovered that the essence is the same. I think I reverted to being 23 years old when I crossed the entrance gate. Maybe it’s more like 27 because the kids did require some accountability.

Immediately, the kids were pestering us to trek up to kids hill. “It closes at 8 pm, you know” was all my nephew would say. I’m not sure if kids hill has changed or if I was just so oblivious in my irresponsible days. Either way, kids hill rocks! They had kids’ music, crafts, and activities. The only problem was that the kids did not want to leave. Fortunately, it’s right up the hill from the dance pavilion allowing me to do some clogging while keeping an eye on them.

Friday, after putting the kids to bed and my sister returned from her turn at irresponsibility, I headed up to the dance pavilion. I couldn’t find anyone I knew but it didn’t matter because I’ve been waiting 9 years for the Cajun hoedown. It was especially pleasing that last year they doubled the dance floor. It didn’t take long before those extra layers of warmth I put on to fight the 50 deg F weather seemed unnecessary, but you wouldn’t have caught me wearing some of the sun dresses I saw there. Those kids must of had a lot more anti-freeze than I’d had.

I’m not sure why but I never watch more than about five minutes of the whole weekend of the musicians on the main stage. As a result, I missed the head lining band absolutely tank. Not a problem for me because I was crushing on The Wild Turkeys playing on the 2nd stage at the same time. Gotta love the ol’ suitcase as a base drum idea. I’d pay to listen to these guys again, not to mention getting to eye up Uncle Whiskey sittin’ in the rocking chair looking as cool as Don Draper.

The Wild Turkeys

Quite unpredictably, I ended the evening eating deep fried pickles. Yes, most certainly better than eating a regular pickle but I doubt I’ll have another one. That is, until Slimey buys some at Wheatland again next year.

Saturday, rain turned our Wheatland into a Wetland. But, you can’t keep a good girl from watching The Corn Fed Girls. It probably didn’t hurt that they played under a gigantic tent. I might be biased since I know several of the band members but they have a great sound. It was disappointing that their time got cut short and Ira didn’t sing.

In the evening, after the rain had passed, it was time for one more dance before the kiddos bedtime. We got resistance from all of them. If I had to change something it would be our camp location. A bit too long of a walk but the camp location of our college years isn’t suitable for families or anyone who wants to sleep a few minutes.

Still, we coerced, I mean, convinced the kids to go up for honkey-tonk dancing. Alas, there was no dancing for those kids because an abundance of festival goers turned up to watch Delilah dance on her stand up base. I worked the kids right up in front so that they could sit and watch. K-man, who loves a good guitar, was transfixed when Delilah and The Lost Boys started playing. I had to beg the others to stay a little longer because K-man was having such a good time. We left too soon to see the famous Delilah dance on her base.

Not too long after, the kids and my sister were settled in bed leaving me to dance till 2 am. I took several trips around the dance floor with my good friend, Slimey. I won’t mention how at one point we both ended up on the floor in front of dozens of groaning on-lookers.

Besides the kids getting tired earlier than expected, Wheatland went exactly as I thought it would. Maybe better because the old friends really seemed to value the time we had together. I’m really looking forward to next year and hoping it doesn’t turn into Wetland again.

Happy Wetland!

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