Sunday, May 31, 2009
We had dinner with friends last night and for the first time in my life I saw a real live Flamenco dancer. I watched in awe the beauty of the dance. Her facial expressions along with the movement of her hands and body, told a story that masqued the music. I tried to eat dinner, but sat, with fork in hand gazing at the talent and beauty of the young woman directly in front of us. She had a partner whose grace matched hers. His movements reminded my husband of a bull fighter. For a few moments I imagined my husband and I on the stage, castanets in hand, stomping and twisting and dancing, telling a story. My husbands gaze caught my eye, he squeezed my hand. "Are you ready to go home and get into our jammies? It's getting late." I nodded. After all it was almost 8:30.