Visting the Parents

Wow. I just checked my email and found that i'd received so many nice comments from Hannah, Omega and Sunshine! Thanks so much for your thoughts and encouragment. It's funny how you guys know just the right time, and it means alot! I love getting feedback. It makes this blog worthwhile.

Yesterday the manical Mr cursed his way up the freeway driving us to the The Guru's classes in the City. (Despite his incessant complaints of being sick, he didn't want her driving home alone in the dark "because the on-coming traffic blinds her and she panics. She has flashbacks from her accident.") I danced for another 4 hours straight like i did that first day when we went there straight from the airport. Having the live pwj drummer there really helps to keep the momentum up. It's so cute how he speeds up the rythmn and prolongs the exercises to make us sweat, while he watches and giggles! The class keeps going until they can take it no longer or it becomes impossibly fast and they start dropping out and bursting into fits of laughter.

They mainly practiced a couple plvs which i haven't "officially" learned, but have seemed to pick up over year and years of watching them. Surprisingly, i could get through most of it following along in the back. Generally this sort of thing perturbs the Guru because she considers it stealing when she hasn't taught it to you and you didn't pay for the choreography. This is also a reason why she is adamant about keeping tight control over who takes and holds videos of her performances. She doesn't want people taking her dances and not doing them well which reflects poorly on the tradition, her culture, and her guru. A daunting responsibility at times being a caucasion American borrowing someone else's culture. And sometimes confusing. (Is it my right to dance it?) Being outside of the culture, how many years must you dance and study before it becomes yours? Can it ever?

My parents drove a couple hours from their home to pick me up outside of the class. We had a quick lunch at I v a r ' s and then visited my ailing Auntie Evelyn. She sat in her elegant antique filled living room underneath a blanket - her breathing slightly labored, but doing remarkably well. She's a dynamo - a 94 year old firecracker. Her crystal blue eyes full of mischief and life. She was the same Auntie Evelyn as ever and i was extremely happy and relieved. My Dad says it's impossible, but i hope that she'll fully recover.

Driving back to their home, my jovial Dad didn't stop talking! For hours! Even today he's still all animated and gregarious. Sure not the guy i knew growing up. This merry guy is likable! Very! He's fun: like a little kid - enthusiastic and vulnerable. He gushes over his projects, can't wait to show them off and basks in the solicitied compliments. It's so cute but also makes me a little sad. (The vulnerability.) Maybe i can relate. Maybe you don't want to see your parents like children. You'd prefer them to be like gods. Who wants to stroke the ego of you role models afterall? They're supposed to be rock solid, and never fall. The Guru is like this too, despite all of her gushing admirers and acclaim, she is still so very small. She always did lean on me for emotional support which was....weird? Confusing maybe? And occasionally (when i was having rough times and could have used a voice of wisdom or guidance) a little dissapointing. Where was my fearless leader? My support? But that was long ago...

Since this morning Dad's been proudly working on his infamous potato salad. We took a walk on the beach. He watched birds and enthusiastically pointed them out . He turned over a rock and played with a crab. He talked about the tide and different shaped rocks. Now he's fired up the grill and marinating some chicken. Cute. Cute cute cute.

Wish their house wasn't so freezing cold. Just like the Guru's. I've been an icecube all week. And my fingers can barely type.

Ope, Mom just got home from work! Gonna go say hi!

And with no further ado, I leave you with Mr. Crab. (Who hails from the beach.)