Humor me if you will, and picture this: 1) a chicken trying to fly; 2) a dog doing a full body shake after a bath; 3) and an oompa loompa doing jumping jacks. Now, meld those three images together. Got it? If so, you have a pretty good idea of what I looked like at a samba class the other night.
I never thought I’d find myself backpacking to Prague in 1990, walking the cobblestone streets with lanterns creating dancing shadows on the walls, surrounded by centuries of history, shrouded in myths and a whispering river, sounds that conjured up tall ancient churches with stained glass windows and flickering candles, sounds that invited us to explore this magnificent city that seemed so strange and exotic.
How did I end up dancing with Paul McCartney on his tour in Boston?
Who needs Tiffany’s when we’ve got sunlight sparkling on the sea? I do! I love Tiffany’s! The first monologue I ever performed in high school drama class was Holly Golightly getting ready to go see Sally Tomato in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I studied the scene
Am I developing clairvoyant powers? Or was it just coincidence?
Here’s what happened: Yesterday I went out to my back deck in the forest, surrounded by waterfalls and flowers, and laid out my yoga mat. I lit candles and …
So tonight, I lift a glass to my ol’ hip… (or if not a glass, a Tramadol). It’s been a good hip, grown two amazing souls, been the source of endless dancing pleasure and supported me now for half a century. It’s time for my to go to hip heaven… Hip Hip Hooray! (Just kidding- surgery sucks, but I’m told the pain-free existence afterwards is well worth it. I’ll let you know.)
’s been 22 days since my hip replacement surgery, and the hardest part is slowing down. I want to be healed. I want to dance, to stretch, to slide into bed without tweaking pain, to sleep on any side I choose. I want to jump into the ocean and then slide into a hot bubble bath.
I just want to be next to her, to read to her, put my arms around her, to feel my heart near hers, and pretend that her brain will come back and she will remember who I am, even for one bittersweet moment.
Last week I attended my first wedding as a divorcee, and I wasn’t expecting the cascading waves of mixed emotions. I was happy for my niece of course, and I do adore romance and beauty, but there were moments at the wedding that were zings of pain, like little divorce bees were flying around, stinging me here and there…
My Mom could never understand why I felt compelled to jump into adventures in faraway lands, and she would say, “Oh Marci, how do you do that? How do you dare to go to these places by yourself? Aren’t you scared?” This perplexed me, because when I travel, I feel the opposite of scared. When I embark on an adventure into the unknown, I feel more at home than I do at home
