I woke up this morning and reread my blog. I can be so dramatic. I only say that a- because it’s true but b- when I woke up yesterday morning and wanted to write and didn’t have a chance to I was really happy and uplifted. Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps I had too much time to think, who knows. So, this is my second attempt.
I hear the birds chirping. The sun is bright. I slept for a long time. It takes me awhile to recover from going out. On Saturday I made orange rosemary roasted chicken with quinoa, garbanzos and pomegranate. It was so yummy I was even impressed. I was with my sisters. We browsed through pictures, laughed loud and hard, helped each other with makeup, took an almost extreme amount of pics on my Mac Photobooth and went out dancing to a Stevie Wonder party in San Francisco.
We danced and danced and danced. It was so crowded. So, so crowded that I wished that they would have this party more than once a year. But it didn’t matter that long hair whipped my face. I was dancing, dancing to Stevie, with my sisters in my heart it could have been all night long.
There was the older, older, older man that I chose to dance with coz he seemed so happy dancing. I wondered if he was reminiscing moments when he might have heard Stevie live. But then in those two minutes he seemed to have fallen in love with me, kissed my head and wanted to whisper in my ear that I had to go away. There was our bodyguard. He must have been 6’8 he just stood there. I must have reached his belly. I am 4’11 and 1/2! He slowly moved his hips around. So slow you could hardly tell but I wondered why he was there in the middle of the dance floor, he looked bored. I think he was shy. Meadow got bored with him and we moved to another part of the dance floor. But before that there was a church like dancing song. One like the ones that were forbidden. The ones that people danced to in the outskirts late at night. I saw myself with a teal and black cotton dress with ruffles. My hair in a bun, a hat with feathers, even a purse to match. We danced and danced. In my mind it was hot and humid, dancing outside where the almost full moon was bright, near a swamp, dancing on wooden planks, moonshine around but of course I wasn’t drinking it. This guy wanted us to shake our hands while we danced. We did and we laughed and shook our hands and hips more. Then we moved. It was no longer hot and humid just back in the space we were in. We danced around smiley people but who can not help but smile when a new Stevie song came on. I danced with this guy, who just wanted to dance. Not to touch me, not to whisper in my ear, just to dance and I smiled even more.
Then they played the song that Stevie always sings to me.
We realized that in our thirties we can’t stay out till 4am like we did when we were younger. We drove back, my ears didn’t ring, my heart was full somehow I was still smiling.
An espiritista once told me that I have to go out dancing at least once a month. I pick up so much from others and sometimes get down with my own life that dancing is my release. I sometimes forget that. Dancing in my living room isn’t enough sometimes. I went to bed happy and woke up fulfilled. I was easy on myself I knew i could get through this journey. I was full of love.
Ok, that was the blog I intended to write. Not the one about my broken heart. Not the one about me being sad and dramatic. But you know I AM Cuban and I grew up on those melodramatic Spanish love songs that people are ripping their hearts out their chest and I just saw Rachel is Getting Married and The Savages. That might not explain it all but I just wanted to give you some background.