I enjoy moving through space. I am good at it. These are not unrelated facts.
I can walk for miles. I can stand for five minutes before I start whining.
I’m good at learning movement patterns. Tai chi forms. Karate kata. And yes, dressage tests. Not that I never make a mistake – she adds superstitiously – but the basic concept is in my skill set.
If dance class was a matter of learning a sequence of steps, as with tai chi or karate, and then repeating and perfecting the exact same steps, I’d be golden.
Alas, this is not the case.
Dance as a Musical Activity
Dance is the physical embodiment of music. I am not.
In the beginner ballet classes at The Dance Foundation, we dance to a real-live person playing the piano rather than to canned music. It’s lovely. It’s definitely a perk of the class.
However. There is no connection between the pleasant sounds coming in my ear and what happens with my feet. The wiring just isn’t there. Music is a language I am all but deaf to.
For the record, I hate mirrors. I can go an entire dance class without looking at one entire wall of the room.
I had this dance epiphany watching the instructor outline our next exercise. Four of these this way. Four of those that way. It came to me how much of dance is numbers, in the same way that music is numbers.
Awareness of the outside world. Graphic from NJ Department of Health, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Assist to Instagram: @dr.berthahidalgo. (In case your viewer is squashing the image, larger vertical format below.)
~~~
Proof of jumping lesson!
!!!
We jumped this. It wasn’t horrible.
Well, actually.
Hank jumped this. I wasn’t horrible.
This is Hank.
Hank is a school horse.
Hank doesn’t worry about people fretting and flailing around him.
Hank gets on with his job.
Be like Hank.
Jumping lesson at fancy hunter/jumper barn. (They have asked for no publicity. )
This is Hank.
Hello, Hank.
Walk.
Trot.
Canter.
Trot poles.
Canter poles!
Canter crossrails!! (I asked to trot one first.)
Canter a vertical!!!
My jumping wasn’t good, but I had inklings that one day it might get back to being good. I’ll take that.
I was surprised to find out the leather widget was called a martingale. All right-thinking people know a martingale is a piece of horse tack, either standing or running. Also an Irish martingale if one is studying for a USPC rating. The Society Of Master Saddlers: Different Types of Martingale
Little did I know.
A martingale is …
… an adjustable part of a dog collar.
… a similar adjustable widget on the back of a coat or dress.
… “A stay running from the end of the jib-boom to the dolphin striker, which holds the jib-boom down against the pull of the fore topgallant mast stay.” The Age Of Sail: Martingale
… an obsolete term for a twofer, or occasionally a threefer in the theatrical lighting industry. Wiki: Martingale
Awareness of the outside world. When a social media influencer burbles on about living your best life, does anyone else hear Voltaire? ~~~
We’ve had our first meltdown for this year’s trail ride. Everyone stayed on. It was over in a matter of moments. Still, maybe we make it one & done, guys? K? Thanx.
Rodney was in a mood. I could tell he was in a mood. Back to work after a day off? I lengthened my stirrups to make the ride easier on my knees thereby making the saddle squeak too much? Or, to paraphrase a noted British philosopher, Rodney got fundamentally fed up with being where he was? Who knows.
At one point, Milton was tapped with a stick. Rodney spooked at the sound. Milton took it under advisement.
The problem with being a weenie is that you second guess yourself. You don’t always take the path of wisdom because it feels like wimping out. I should have listened to myself. I may be a weenie, that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
Walking was going well. Calm. Quiet. On the buckle. Easily knocking out hour-long rides.
Time to trot.
Mind you, our trot exercise is a short distance along a level section of the pasture both horses have lived in for years. Ten years in Rodney’s case, 7 in Milton’s. This is not a new and spooky endeavor. Or it shouldn’t be.
On this particular day, we chose to trot the outward stretch, turn around, and trot back. Rodney did fine for the first half. Turned around. Trotted toward home. Rodney got stronger. Natural response to the gravitational attraction of the barn. Whoa up. Settled back to nice trot. We crossed through the ring and hit a patch of tall grass.
No! No! No! I say unto you, No!
Rodney’s signature move is weird, hoppy, plunge forward while slinging his head from side to side. The action itself is minor. No notable height. No spin. However, because it is being done by a horse having a temper tantrum, one is never sure of the end game. This leads to much verbal remonstrating on the part of rider. Naturally, Rodney hopping about caused Milton to hop about.
Really guys? Really? A quiet trot in your own pasture? Is that too much to ask? Apparently yes.
I am trying – with limited success – to be grateful for the progress we have made. We are so far from where I had hoped to be. Every step of progress has been a struggle. And then when we do have victories, they occur at the absolute minimum level to satisfy the criteria.
For example, saying I want to show my horse and then doing a Beginner Novice dressage test in a class of one at a small, local schooling show. It’s hard to be more in the basement than that.
Last year, I promised myself that this year we would do more of the virtual race activities. Painting competition numbers on their hindquarters. Scaling an ersatz Cougar Rock. The creative imagination of other competitors is amazing. Turns out IRL life is challenging enough at the moment. Sigh.
Awareness of the outside world. Have not read the book. Was taken with the author’s comments on Chinatown. “The Chinese language newspapers and tv shows you can hear through people’s windows are actually made in the U.S. for U.S. citizens and residents … I’m as American as fortune cookies, chimichangas, and Cuban sandwiches, all of which are American inventions.” Whatever: The Big Idea: Jadie Jang. ~~~
(update: mystery logo removed.)
Tomorrow, I am scheduled for a new rider evaluation lesson.
Different barn than my previous attempt. One I had not thought about approaching. Fancy, high-end hunter/jumper barn. Met someone who used to keep a horse there (waves hi!). Did the barn teach lessons? Yes, they did. Would the person be willing to contact them on my behalf? Yes, they would.
Whether or not it was due to the influence of a third party, the barn returned my call and we scheduled a lesson. Maybe striking off in an unexpected direction is the answer.
As usual, I will be more specific once I know their preferences.
Am I worried? Of course not. I will be on a horse who can be trusted with complete unknowns. Said horse will trot around pleasantly while the instructor figures out if I know which way is up.
Spending days and days fretting about the lesson and chewing my fingernails would be a waste of time and fingernails. Silly thing to do. (Hides hands behind back.)
Looks like I will be going up to the company’s lunar orbital lab after all. I was on the reserve team, which only goes up if crystal production exceeds projections. It is, so we are.
I’ll be catching the first shuttle tomorrow morning. Weightlessness, here I come.
Ironic that we will be surrounded by so much advanced technology to keep us alive, yet crystal finishing can only be done by the human hand. The first company to automate the process will make a mint. Even more of a mint than crystals already are.
Now, off to figure out how to cram all my stuff into my personal mass allowance. Where did it all come from?
Virtual Brush Box 