One summer you're madly sprucing up the farm for your daughter's wedding. You think you're not going to get everything done, even though your husband is a teacher with summers off and is devoting every hour of sunlight to wedding preparation. And not just him. You can still see Nancy on her knees scraping and painting the porch, Bootsie in her farmy bib shorts staining four Adirondack chairs Don built, Jennifer meditatively pulling weeds around the veggies and flowers and painting your studio roof, Peter shoveling dirt bare chested or bending over his Macbook creating the dance music play list, Don planting, grooming, tango-ing with sunflowers to get them to bloom, and promenading to and fro orchestrating all the activity according to Lesley's creative direction from a distance in NYC. You -- you do laundry, lend a hand here and there, throw pasta with tomatoes and basil onto white plates alfresco like a swing dancer throws a jitterbug. It takes months of love and help, last minute flourishes and light-hanging by Don's sisters and brothers, and in the end - twist and shout! - the occasion is beyond wonderful.
Farm Day August 7, but it would be over the top more than just a tad. You and Don could groove up your farm life a little bit in the Great Hall of the Wharton Center listening to Joe Lovano for a couple hours, and go dancing after. Wait a minute, is there any place to go dancing around here?
The dress is a wall flower, waiting to be asked.
On the other hand, there is no wedding to plan -- Woohoo!
Oh dear, there is no wedding to plan. Boohoo.
But no worries, you can come on over to my place, 'cause
. . . . everybody gonna dance tonight . . .
Lorenzo of The Alchemist's Pillow - an excellent blog with art, music, beautiful poetry and humor - pointed a nice finger at RUMI DAYS. Go see who dances on his shoulders.