The Circles In Which I Circulate

I have two eventful days to catch up on. First of all:

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again;
'Ow did I learn to do right-about turn?
I'm back to the Army again!
- Rudyard Kipling

As in, on Saturday I came back to aikido after nearly six weeks with practically no practice, and I remembered why I loved it. It was difficult, yes, to keep from worrying, but I have been doing aikido for nearly two and a half years now, and I trusted to my body to know its muscle memory and to dance to keep myself in balance. I now used the trick I learned in dance to stop dizziness after turns so as to stop dizziness after rolls: hold your palm in line with your nose, resting the side of your index finger on the bridge. My body did remember how to do unrolls, although I did not try the breakfalls I had been working on at the time of my postponement: it was not a good day for breakfalls. It also remembered how to do tenkan, referred to in the Kipling quote above. Too bad I could not stay for the weapons, as I have not done weapons in god alone knows how long, but way too long. My brother tested for his third kyu, passing dramatically, and here I am, starting at the same time as him, with only fifth kyu to show for it. Well, people know how good I am, with my rank being only secondary, from one point of view; various incidents had prevented a rapid rise through the ranks, and right now I am seriously slack on the basic curriculum. But since my favourite instructors are all on hiatus, and half the classes of the dojo are no longer scheduled, I can no longer easily do the fifteen to seventeen hours a week of practice like I used to - and I had tested no faster even when I did. Not everything is in my hands. But remembering the fine balance-taking of sumiotoshi was.

I want to do this. I want aikido, as badly as I want dance; they are two sides of the same icosahedron. I will figure out a way, if I want to do something badly. This has been the Spring of Aikido, like the previous two years, but the Autumn of Dance taking over my life. Dance and math. Math comes first, mat comes second, I joked, but where in there does marking time come in? And what about moolah and mating and mates and marcasite?

I rode to work, thinking of aikido and dance. I am trying to persuade myself not to agonise that I am a fifth kyu while others are third, that I am an uncast dancer; aikidoist and dancer can both be still part of my identity, like I can be a writer while I am not a published author.

You don't wake up one morning and say
"I will become a dancer."
You wake up one morning and realise
That you have been a dancer all your life.
And you say to yourself: I am a dancer.
I am dance.
- Author unknown

But I wonder if I am justified in saying that. It seems that a great many people my age, and a great many bloggers I browse through, claim they are trying to find their own identities, to figure out their paths. I make no pretense of seeking an identity; it seems that I am unlike most people my age or older, then, in that I know who I am, and I like being me, and I consider the orthonormal basis of my life all sorted out for now (wait until, say, a loved one permanently leaves your life, a sneaky part of myself reminds me of adult experiences I have read about. See how anchored and secure in your self-knowledge you are then. But for now, this has not happened. My relationships with all but one of my loved ones seem adequately clear to me. And I suspect the exception is because I am myself making it difficult. People are stupid and irrational in love.)

I went to work, speaking of people stupid and irrational in love, and at work, among other troubles, encountered the Baker. This is the Spanish-speaking man I had practiced my Spanish with, not expecting him to get a schoolboy crush on me, and try to ask me out again, after six months of not seeing me at all. I refuse to give him a name beyond the Baker, as I made it clear in "Key Words, Phrases, and Ideas" what my policy on names is. For heaven's sake, how do you deal with a forty-year-old man with a crush on you, any better or worse than you would deal with a sixteen-year-old boy? I had tired of obfuscation and plain flat out refused his proposals, yet still receive friendly greetings that make me want to get rapidly out of there.

I got the thought that I have been on the giving end of unrequited love three times, on the receiving end at least four that I know of, and the giving end, although it looks more miserable, is a lot more fun. You may look stupid, but at least you get joy in your life when you are with the other person on occasion.

Life without love, without love is not worth living.
An hour without love is an hour, is an hour that time forgot.
We feel good when we are, when we are loving and giving -
Even if
They love us not.
- Performed by the "Plamya" ensemble, translation mine

Yet the world, dear, is not always what you want it to be, even if you know who you are in the world. I think I have passed the Erikson Identity Crisis - now what is the next one? Intimacy vs. Isolation, it seems: finding intense relationships with other people. So welcome to Tourmaline's World; this is what Tourmaline is working on right now; come watch as she works at it. Three things in life can be watched forever: running water, a burning fire, and someone else's work...

I closed with Mysteryperson#1 (he requested that name when I told him about blogging and establishing an entire system of fake names, and I am too lazy to think of a better name for the evening manager). Then, so excited that I later learned I forgot to punch out then, I went over to a party at Arian and Deborah's. Arian took aikido at our dojo for a while; now he is at Concolor's dojo, because their morning classes fit his schedule better. He also used to study Russian and German, and he or Deborah visit the Bagelshop fairly regularly.

At the party I was introduced to Arian's friends Jack and Kim and their six-year-old daughter Lily, and his friends Mattias and Hulda, who are Swedish. I was sorry my brother could not make it, although he was invited, because he had taught himself Swedish for a while. Kim is Thai, and so Lily is partially bilingual in English and Thai. However, I think Kim is making a mistake in speaking English to Lily as well, instead of only Thai; that may not be enough of an incentive in the long run for the girl to maintain fluency in the minority language, instead of a true one-parent one-language system. Mattias and Hulda have a son who is Swedish-English home-outside bilingual, and Hulda and I had a long talk about bilingual children. I tried to restrain myself, but child bilingualism in a minority language is a topic I have strong feelings about, for obvious reasons. I manage to be fluently bilingual and keenly literate in two languages; can my children do the same thing?

I rekindled my acquaintance as well with Arian's two sons, four-year-old Christopher and two-year-old Absalom (a reminder again that there are no real names used in this story). When I arrived, the children were watching Barney's Christmas; Deborah said, "I hate Barney, but I hate the Teletubbies even more." This was actually my very first view of Barney, and I must say the reasons for his appeal elude even the memory of my five-year-old self. I was never much of a muppet fan, although I loved animation, hand-drawn, clay, and CGI, and still do. Then we switched to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, the old claymation movie from the fifties, the one with the elf who wanted to be a dentist. The volume was turned down to allow the adults to talk, so I missed a lot of the dialogue, but I liked that movie; I can understand the appeal of that. "So the parents find their baby is a mutant..." was how Deborah commented on the opening scene. Then I found myself entertaining the children. Lily liked to dance, so I taught her, and then Christopher and Absalom, the "Virginia reel" I learned in grade six, and later resurrected during the jive unit of junior high gym class, and later resurrected again during the senior prom. I am being abs0lutely serious, how can you possibly resist
Forward and back.
Forward and back once more.
Now once around with a right elbow!
And the other way back with a left elbow!
Two hands, round we go.
Now the do se do with a do se do, here we go,
Head couple, sashay down!
And sashay back!
Cast off (we didn't do that part, since there was only one couple)
Now make the arch and pass through!
Back to your places, one, two!
One,
Two.
Forward and back...

"Make the arch and pass through" turned out to be a double twist (told you I know how to jive), also since the head couple was the only couple, and it was rather difficult, especially with little Absalom. I tried doing the whole thing in sawariwaza, on my knees, but found it was too stressful for your knees. The do se do was also a little tricky for the kids, since it requires letting go of your partner and walking backwards around each other, arms folded. Lily got the hang of it, but the boys just let me go around them. However, they all loved it and wanted more and more of it; very simple dance moves, no music required, just loud chanting. I must try square dancing someday, although I have seen it once in my life. And a do se do an allaman left, and you know where and I don't care...

Then Lily unearthed a harmonica, and insisted we take turns playing while the other danced. Between violin, clarinet and recorder, I can figure out melodies on most string and woodwind instuments, including banjo and ocarina, but not the harmonica. I ended up playing something rhythmic along the lines of tika-too-too tika-too-too, maintaining my professional musician's dignity, while Lily improvised off-rhythm (she apparently takes gymnastics-dance lessons). When it was my turn, I ignored the even worse "music" that was Lily's untaught rendition on the harmonica, and went straight to practicing Ukrainian dance moves - double cabrioles, dorishka nazad, obertas turns, and those fiendish turns we do in Mosaic that are one piqué, one obertas, one piqué, one obertas. I carried off about six in a row; I dance amazingly well out of the studio when no one is watching me.

Then Lily read me Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? and I watched her also play with Christopher. She tried to talk him into being a prince; he replied, very seriously, "I'm not a prince, I'm just Christopher." Deborah told me, "He is always just Christopher. If he is playing fireman, he is always just Christopher doing fireman things, not Christopher the fireman, or Christopher doing policeman things, not Christopher the policeman. He was really upset when Absalom first tried saying his name, and it came out Chri-ffa. 'I'm Christopher!' He doesn't want to pretend to be anyone else; he just wants to be himself."

The food was fantastic; I do not know how Deborah cooks so well with two boys bothering her. Jack and Arian coaxed me into trying a glass of their allegedly fantastic red wine. I pleaded I was biking home, and tasted only a mouthful as my limit. I have only drunk red wine twice in my life, counting this, and both times I was told it is very good wine indeed, so I cannot say whether the wine was good or bad. It was not sweet, and it made me feel warm. Ah, you do not know when you are getting drunk if you have never been drunk.

Antoine from aikido and his wife Marie-Soleil also came for a while, bringing their five-week-old daughter (who is the reason Antoine has not been making it to aikido class lately). Absalom was absolutely fascinated with the baby - a person who is smaller than he is!

I went home almost last, leaving only Jack, Kim and Lily still at the party. Arian and Deborah packed a whole package of goodies for me to take for my brother and myself. I split my half with the rest of the family. Later I found that my father had eaten the half I set aside for my brother. I was rather upset at this; not at the error of eating someone else's treat, but that my father tried shrugging it off by saying, "The food was crap anyway." "If I lose a hat," I cried, "I say I made a mistake and lost my hat. I do not disrespect everyone else's efforts by pretending that the hat was ugly anyway."

The next day, after five hours at work, I went off to the ensemble performance in front of the school.

Margarita, one of the second-string principal dancers, was selling her handmade jewelry, and her mother was manning the stall. I got into a Russian conversation with Margarita's mother, which led me to speak to Margarita in Russian for the first time. Margarita's code switching is almost as interesting to observe as Concolor's and his mother's.

I watched the performance. It is a little bitter to watch choreography that you know; I found myself dancing along with my chin, nodding to the bows, shifting my weight in the chair when I would have shifted it while dancing. The Hopak did not grip me as much as in previous years; probably more because I now know it than because it was danced any less emotionally. What could I do? If you can't dance, if you can't dance, then you can't do nothing for me baby, as ran a Spice Girls song back in those brief months I actually followed pop music. I noted the lines were sometimes uneven, despite the tape on the studio floor, an Achilles heel of the ensemble Luiza also bemoaned later.

But I staunchly went to the ensemble party at the Royal Oak by the U of O; I actually unexpectedly arrived there first. "Large party for Taglioni?" "Check the reservations." They gave us the basement; I had heard there were blackboards there, but there were not; only a mysterious white screen that I joked was a SmartBoard, but was probably just a "white dumb board." For a while I relaxed alone in an armchair, reading a book about dinosaurs in French; then Magda came in, and after her the other people: Taglioni and her boyfriend and later Sylvie, Vera, Lord Pencilturn, Soren, Luiza, Taglioni, Sylvie and Luiza's parents, Magda's fiancé Jacob, Rostislav, Victor and Tolik, and later still Lizaveta and Gabrielle. Mara arrived when the tacky gift exchange was already in progress, after the dinner.

I had bought my "tacky gift" that morning, at the Bagelshop, in addition to my lunch. I had decided to go with chocolate, and bought a Lindt Double Milk bar. The only thing I could think of to wrap it with was a paper bag saying "Maxim's du Paris", secured with two golden elastics. Therefore it highly amused me to hear Margarita wax eloquent about her chocoholism; I told her of the Bagelshop, to which Jacob, who had been involved with the Bagelshop for a very long time, groaned. I dropped oblique hints about my gift, but I guess they were too oblique for her when it came to the gift exchange.

Gabrielle got Magda's two glass vases, pasted all over with chocolates, which Victor stole from her, and then Soren stole from him. Then Gabrielle got Vera's pink socks with a cow appliqued on, which Taglioni stole from her and then Sylvie stole from Taglioni. Magda chose Mara's gift of a mysterious procelain device that looked like a cross between attached bookends and a CD rack and seemed made for use in the kitchen. I suggested it was a massager. "It hurts your head!" Sylvie whined after testing that theory. We finally decided that Magda will put it in her kitchen and watch every visitor in case someone would use the thing for its intended purpose; if after a certain time the thing meets with no success in the kitchen, it will be moved to the living room and so on through the rooms.

Taglioni's boyfriend got "fart spray" which apparently smelled bad enough without depressing the aerosol that unanimous pleadings forbade actual depressing of the aerosol. Keeping with that theme, Mara got a "fart whistle" working on the party-whistle principle, as well as a rubber chicken which emits a rubber egg from its cloaca when you squeeze it, and Lizaveta got a little device filled with Silly-Putty-like material which makes a farting noise when you stick your finger in. We later passed it around, and Magda was noted for her natural proficiency with the device, which was more realistic than the fart whistle. A medical student, Magda laughed, "It's all those digital rectal exams."

When it came to my turn, I chose Taglioni's gift, and got a frog-shaped hanger as well as a bouncing clock on a spring, an item I first mistook for a meat thermometer. Then Margarita stole it from me, and I picked Soren's gift, which was a long package with a note on it, "It's not the size that counts, it's the magic." Everyone, especially Sylvie, hooted as I unwrapped my gift - I only have a vague idea why - but it turned out to be a toy plastic magic or princess wand. No one stole that from me. I think Margarita regretted stealing from me when Tolik finally went for my gift and found some really nice chocolate, which he later shared with everyone. I shrugged as Tolik unwrapped it, "I am not very imaginative." Taglioni told me that was the nicest gift there. Most amusing was Rostislav unwrapping a beautifully wrapped gift and revealing - a box of All-Bran! This turned out to be empty of All-Bran (which would probably have been the tackiest gift I can imagine), but containing a bright blue balaclava.

The party was hilarious, and I felt I had friends there. This was later proved to me as I went home and realised to my horror that I had forgotten to pay my bill! I frantically sent an email to everyone there, then phoned the cell phones of Taglioni, Magda, and Mara in turn. Mara told me that Gabrielle had paid for me. I am obsessive-compulsive about debts and promises, as has been demonstrated several times in this blog. I paid Society Max to write Gabrielle a check, and mailed her a Christmas card with the check in it. Gabrielle sent me an email saying not to worry about it, I can pay her back at university, but aw well, it is already in the mail, and I feel better that way. And I owe her a card anyway, for how nice she has been. Lizaveta I am paying back with knowledge of LaTeX, that I had had offered on Friday when Eduard, a male dancer who is also Russian, drove her and Lord Pencilturn and me home. Eduard is an aerospace engineering student and he has apparently wanted to learn LaTeX for a long time. As soon as I got home that evening I sent them both an email saying where to download LaTeX for Windows, where to download Crimson Editor, and attaching the pdf that I used for most of the questions I needed.

And this is how we party.