Sometimes, just sometimes in my life, I have enjoyed dancing. Not ballroom dancing. Jive, rhythmic, free of all constraint except a rhythm which opens the door and allows you into a world where nature takes over and disconnects you from the regulation of routine and daily life. You become part of something beyond and outside yourself. Watching dancing associated with religions and rituals where the object is to escape the self, I can understand its purpose. Ballet music sometimes has the same effect. I remember listening to Stravinsky's Right of Spring for the first time, sitting on a window ledge in the school library. Far from being in a position to do so, I sometimes feel like responding to those sharp, wild rhythms with improvised movements, stamping and twirling across the room. To lose myself in the action and discover something new about or beyond myself. If only I knew how.
The comfort of a fish pie, composed of smoked haddock, salmon and a few luxurious scallops. Whereas the the rest of the fish is cooked a little in advance, the scallops are added at the last minute with a creamy sauce beneath the crust of mashed potatoes. The scallops cook just enough while the crust is browning.
3 comments:
I cannot say that I have ever enjoyed the precious little dancing I have ever been cajoled into doing. Far too self-conscious. But I do understand what you are saying, and have a certain sympathy with you. If I dance about at all, it is on my own in a room without mirrors. If Lucy happens to be around, I just turn my mild cavorting into a joke. She understands, I think.
The local fishmonger had 2 kinds of scallops for sale. I almost purchased some, but went for the wild Halibut instead.
I took lessons which proved I could not dance. But secretly I still wanted to. Yet when opportunities arrived and I saw other males, no better skilled than I was, embarking on to the floor, embarrassment took over. I didn't dare.
Once during an event held in an RC environment I got very drunk and a sequence of women guided me - unresisting - on to the dance floor, there to dance with them. A thrilling experience; I shall always be grateful to those opportunistic partners. However my final partner was in fact my real partner, my wife, VR. She was less than charmed by my crapulousness and remained remote.
I have made fish pie several times; all bar one were successes, the single failure being the result of using too much white suace. Ironically on that occcasion my guest was the member of my family circle I dislike the most. He was able to insult me in a particularly wounding way: "Well it tasted OK."
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