The Brattleboro Dawn Dance (into Labor Day 2008) was one long special moment, but there was a single outstanding example
of "living in the moment" that came at approximately 6:34 AM. I knew that sunrise was scheuduled for 6:29, but didn't
know about the tradition of turning off the lights during the dance that contains that time, to cheer in the new day.
So I wandered off to hydrate and didn't get a partner at the start of that dance, and when I came back up the stairs,
the floor was spinning happily in the morning light, and there were no spare partners along the wall.
I felt immediate and deep regret to have missed that dance, but then
I decided to try to enjoy the energy without being in it - a new idea for me. And it was working just fine, when
I noticed that a man had walked onto the floor next to me and seemed to be in tune with my frame of mind.
We shared that moment, I
gave him the nickel-tour version of my dance-gypsy life - and then we boldly joined the center line.
He was a great dancer, and I was grateful to have found my way into the actual "dawn dance".
Lessons? Not sit out any of the dances in the last hour of a Dawn Dance, and that I can accept and even enjoy less than
I'd hoped for... and that sometimes, having given up on making it happen, factors out of my control will
step in to provide.
| At Pinewoods, dancing was primary, but there was a lovely lake as well, where I swam often.
One day a new friend invited me to go canoing [weird spelling, but apparently correct, since there's no little red
line under it...]. At the far end of the lake, in the branches of a low lying tree, was a
Plymouth Red Belly Turtle.
This is an endangered critter so I felt lucky to see it. Its shell seemed to be molting, with the plates along the outer
edge pulled up, like old shingles on a shed, and a line of upright plates along its "spine", reminding
me of one of those dinosaurs the kids used to like, and one big plate upright at the tail. I don't think
turtles molt, so I hope it isn't ill. It sat quietly in the branches as we drifted nearer, then decided
the show was over and slid away. |
| At Mammouth Cave State Park is a car ferry across
the Green River. It was delightful. |
| On the morning of Dad's 80th birthday, I pulled into a perfectly shaded space in the parking lot behind Boone Tavern.
I started to roll up the windows, when a large blue and yellow butterfly drifted into my window, hung in front of my eyes
for a few magical moments, then drifted out the other front window. A couple who was sitting on a bench nearby
laughed along with me.
|
My tour guide at Berea College was a senior history major. It was clear that he had
studied Berea's history closely, and finding that I was a daughter of two alums, and a former teacher, he took special
care to be educational.
As we were finishing up at Union Church's sanctuary, he pointed out that the cross that was at the altar was
the Celtic cross, with a circle centered at the crossbar. I told him that I'd always seen that circle as a symbol for the
"S-U-N", not the "S-O-N". A look of delight came over his face and he hurried me upstairs, stopped in an office
and repeated my statement to a young woman sitting there, and took something from her desk.
Then he led me into a chapel with six stained glass windows and challenged me to tell him what I saw in each.
My Bible history is pretty weak, but I was doing pretty well - and then noticed what had made his face light
up with my comment: in every window, the sun was a critical part of the design. The tie back to the Celtic
cross was new to him, and made him happy enough to gift me with a packet of cards showing the six
windows. I think it was one of those moments that makes teaching - and learning - the work that
some of us choose to do.
|