The Tango Festival

Hi Boomers,

I don't usually go on and on about Argentine tango not because I'm not passionate about dancing tango but because I'm often private about how I feel about the dance. It's something I have done for about 15 years and my relationship to tango and its long history is emotional, complicated and passionate.

Fro those of you who don't know, Argentine tango is a social dance and not a competition. American tango is part of the ballroom scene and its unending competition and is not so similar to the tango danced in the tango salons around the world.

Tango dancing has taken me to some of the coolest places on earth. Mecca, of course, is Buenos Aires - the most authentic place to dance tango. I've been thirteen times. Is that sick or addictive or just plain fanciful? I don't know but the city kept calling me back for all those year - and it's charm and authenticity still does - but I'm running out of years to see other parts of the world and so I'm taking a break for awhile and trying out Costa Rica, Southern Spain, Morocco, Bali this year and maybe Africa next year. I'll bet back to Buenos Aires, but for now, I can dance really wonderful tango in many cities in America. I used to go to Amsterdam to dance in the Christmas/NewYear's festival, and I have been to Berlin and Paris to dance, but Europe is, well....Europe is in deep trouble. And besides, airline flights are unpredictable. Someone once asked me to rate the best tango cities outside of Buenos Aires: Berlin and Amsterdam are tops - in fact, all cities in Holland and most of Germany are outstanding. And then there is the new kid on the block: Istanbul.

Which brings me back to Los Angeles and our tango festival that is just finishing up today, Sunday, May 9. Many years ago, there was a festival that ran for two years in Redondo Beach, but this tango festival was in my own backyard of Santa Monica. To undertake a tango festival takes incredible planning and organization and tenacity, usually ending in exhaustion and utter happiness. And I just wanted to recognize and applaud the organizers in my tango community for their incredible efforts.

The joy of a tango festival is to reacquaint with old friends, make new friends and dance with familiar partners. The tango atmosphere generate a generosity of spirit and an esprit de corp that distinguish tango dancers with an unusual set of dance skills and a genuine love for the history of the dance and its deep appreciation of its music. And this morning, I feel the pain of my swollen feet, view with horror the dark circles under my eyes from the late nights, and wonder if I have the energy to attend tonight's last milonga (or dance), knowing that I will probably drag myself back to Santa Monica high school and see who is left from the 200 or so attendees.

I know I'm probably the oldest tango dancer in any festival I attend. And I keep it a very closed secret, although once in awhile to my very close friends I tell them about how joyful I am about my grandsons and how thrilled I am to be awaiting the birth of my first granddaughter. They've got to guess my age, but if my guy friends know - or if they ask what the title of my book is (Sixty, Sex & Tango) they surely know - but they are happy to share a little piece of my life and then we dance another tanda.

I'm anticipating going to Denver for Memorial Day, which is my favorite tango festival in the US. It will be fun to see who shows up, exciting to anticipate dancing with more old friends, and terrific to spend time with one of my closest friends from Santa Fe who designs and sells tango clothes. If she brings her pugs, it will be a special treat.

Dancing tango has brought me more joy in life than I could ever hoped for, more comfort and passions than I could have ever dreamed of, and more excitement and travel than I could have ever dreamed of.

Thanks for letting me share my experience.

Namaste

Joan

The Single Drive

Hi, Boomers,

I got up at 5 am today to drive back to Los Angeles from Las Vegas. I rolled out of bed and, sans makeup, dragged my bags into the car and took off in the dark of early morning.

I don't usually drive the LA to Vegas route. I'm a once a month Southwest weekend flyer. But there is something so appealing about driving at 4 or 5 am in the morning. I get to drive with the truckers and see the sun come up. I listen to Howard Stern and the drive goes fast. I've listened to the shock jock for years, ever since I introduced my sons to him on the morning school drive. It was one of the ways we bonded. Anyway, I think the guy is pretty smart and very funny. Not the smut part, but his "take"on the human condition is fascinating.

Along the way on this single drive, my mind flips back and forth between missing my family, especially those adorable grandsons, that I just left and missing David, my long ago significant other. I usually have a good cry, one of those missing cries, and it actually doesn't make me feel any better. It just makes me miss more.

Along the way, I saw that my new man friend had called me an hour after take off. I had told him we needed the clarity of space until he returned to his home in Montreal. But he didn't exactly adhere to our plan and I was secretly happy. It was sweet of him to call after me. I didn't mind because it felt good to be watched over by someone, to be cared for from afar.

I just read an article about loneliness. Loneliness can be a by-product of depression but not always. I am not usually lonely. I like my own company. But sometimes I bounce off a few walls, especially when it comes to waking up in the morning and I would really like a man's arms around me. Of course, the feeling passes and I get out of bed, make my espresso and get on with my day.

I get that feeling when I drive alone sometimes. The wide, flat expanse of the desert, the sun rising in faded orange and yellow colors reminds me of how small we are in the universe, how this journey is transitory, our lives merely borrowed for a time, and how important it is to honor the present.

Sometimes driving is good for the soul.

Namaste

Joan

Reinventing Myself

Hi Boomers,

I haven't written in such a long time.  I feel guilty.  I've been struggling with my book about turning 60.  The good news is that I have an agent.   I decided not to self-publish.  I've taken a leap of faith and held out for a publisher who may see value in my musings.  The bad news is that my agent thinks I need to change my title to better reflect the contents of the book.  I'm open to new ideas.  I hope we, the royal we, come up with something we all like.  

I thought about it all weekend while I was on a tango weekend, a festival in Denver where some very good tango dancers show  up and we get high on tango for 3 days over Memorial Day.  It is always great fun even though some of the usual suspects didn't show.  Was it the economy, stupid, or was it that the festival is getting stale.  Stale and tango do not belong in the same sentence.

Meanwhile life takes twists and turns as in my sons are no longer speaking to each other.   Don't they realize that each have only one brother in life.  There are no more brothers to have in their lives.  It's such a cliche in life that brothers/sisters don't talk to each other.  It seems that siblings are harder on each other than just plain friends.  They see each other are perfect in some ways, flawed in others and the good/bad characteristics are magnified tenfold.  I hope in time that my sons, these once terrific friends, will mend the fences and forgive.  Meanwhile, I've experienced intense emotional pain that I have almost lifted during the last three weeks.  

My trip is coming up - to Southern Spain and Morocco.  I just realized that I will be getting home July 5 at 11 pm and I have to teaching the next morning at 7 am.  Boy, will I be tired.  I'm using Advantage miles and I can't change anything.  I'm going to die spending 17 hours in Heathrow.  Most of the time, I'll be sleeping, but the next morning will be brutal.  I knew this when I made the reservations, but I forgot - thought I was arriving on July 4th late.  I'm hoping that something will happen and a seat will open up earlier to Los Angeles.   

I feel naked because I don't have a book to write.  Maybe I'll blog more.  Maybe I'll meditate more.  Maybe I'll write more poetry.  Maybe I'll actually take a yoga class.  Maybe I'll rest.

Namaste

Joan