Things I Like About Lindy Hop

I mentioned swing dancing as one of the five things I like in my first post, alongside carbs and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. But this post isn't about eating pastries with Colin Firth; it's about Lindy Hop.

If you know me, you've heard me talk about taking lessons at Boulder Swing Dance. There are several reasons I keep going back for more, outside of the fact that it's my one guaranteed responsibility-free window every week. For one, I love my instructors. They have the class organized well, keep the mood light, and are able to distill the dance enough that a person like me can do it. That's another thing I like: I can do it. Despite being overweight, out of shape, and without rhythm (think Navin Johnson), I can do it. It's not full of stunts that involve me tossing myself up in the air or, even worse, my partner catching me. I like that it's old timey. I like the music we dance to. I like the clothes, the shoes, the hair and makeup. I like it's roots, it's spunk and it's spirit. I like that the point of it is to dance with as many people as you can instead of trying to find someone to take home. I like just about everything about the Lindy Hop, right down to it's name, which brings me to my current favorite part: the names of the moves.

I'm not certain any justice would be done to these great names if I bury them in paragraphs, so here's a plain ol' list of my favorites:

Shim Sham
Tranky Doo
Shorty George
Boogie Back
Sugar Push
Texas Tommy
Swango
Tacky Annie

How anybody could not get excited about a move called Tacky Annie is beyond me, even if transitioning out of it in the Shim Sham is the hardest thing I've ever done, save Long Legged Charleston, which got embarrassingly close to killing me. But that's another story for another day.*

Madly,
Molly

*Actually, the story is pretty short. Once upon a time, I tried Long Legged Charleston and was really, really bad at it. The end.

Nonsense

One of my favorite things is a good mashup.  For instance:

But I also have a sweet spot for stuff like this: 

Tradition!

This is my first Thanksgiving without my mom, which is the stupidest thing I can think of right now.  Why on Earth would Thanksgiving happen without her?  Growing up, the holiday was really no big deal.  We visited my grandparents and cooked up a storm and it was lovely, but it didn't take on any significance for me until much later.

My grandparents died right around the beginning of high school, so they no longer hosted the gathering.  It was just me, my mom and my sister at that point.  We had a discussion about it one day and decided that, rather than spend the morning cooking an elaborate meal and the afternoon cleaning up after ourselves, we should do something simple and enjoy our day off.  So we grabbed some hot dogs and headed to the park.  I brought my little tent, a gift I wanted so badly and never actually used for camping (though it was nearly constantly pitched in our otherwise-unused second living room) and we all sat in it and ate hot dogs and potato salad off of paper plates and chatted.  It was delightful.  As the afternoon wore on, I thought of the one improvement that could have been made.  I called up my best friend, Katie, and she was done with her meal, so her dad drove her over to meet us.  We ran around the Shakespeare in the Park set, which was abandoned at this time of year.  We repeated that tradition for years.  Park, tent, hot dogs, Katie.

When my sister and I had both married and had other obligations for the holiday, the tradition changed.  My mom started having Thanksgiving with my cousin here in Colorado.  Kristen is friends with a great group of people, many of whom don't always feel like traveling or have anywhere in particular to go for the holiday.  Together, all these strays and stragglers make a crowd large enough to warrant the cooking.  The first Thanksgiving for Strays I recall involved my cousin ordering a whole billion pints and quarts of side dishes from Whole Foods and warming them over for whoever came.  My mom, always the hostess, saw to it that a proper feast was presented the next year.  The year after that, and every year after, it was held at her house.  It became Dee's holiday.  People would come over and eat and cook and chat for hours after the meal was complete.

Last year was her last Thanksgiving, and we spent it in her tiny little apartment in Oklahoma.  She was staying there while receiving chemotherapy.  She was sick and fragile, but happy as always to entertain a crowd.  This year, the torch has been passed and I will host the Thanksgiving for Strays.  I'll try my hand at her dishes, bake my first turkey and be thankful that, even though they never really got to know one another, my daughter will grow up experiencing this piece of my mom.

Madly,
Molly

Oh man, those are some ugly pants

Let's talk about clothes for a minute.  Specifically, clothes for fat people, since that's what I wear.  It's hard enough for people my size to fit into our own jeans, which were bought specifically for fitting into, without having to worry about fitting in with trendy people.

Like any other fat (or curvy, real, or pleasantly plump, etc.) girl, I shop at Lane Bryant.  For the most part, I respect their take on how fatties can still be cute.  But every now and then, they come up with something like this.  If you follow that link, you will see plus-size cargo leggings.  Yes, cargo leggings.  Let's ignore for the moment that plus-sized people rarely have any business in leggings.  I own a pair or two myself under the strict assumption that they are at least 2/3 covered (tall boots and long shirt) any time they leave the house.  But why, why, would you want a cargo pocket on your leggings?  Maybe it's because they don't have real pockets?  Yes, that's right; they stitched on "faux pockets" at the top because, as everyone knows, pockets have no business on leggings.  They make you look bumpy and weird.  So they decided against putting a pocket at the top of the leggings which, no matter what size you are, should always be covered by a long shirt anyway, and moved it to the only part of the legging that has any business being seen.  And not only that, but if you look at the detail, they added some weird lines that go around the circumference of the leg just above and below the knee to really draw your attention to how icky that area looks with a pocket attached.  They don't even look good on the model, and that's the place you know they will look at least ten times better than they do on you!

Way to do it wrong, Lane Bryant.  Or should I say Lame Bryant?  (Zing!)

I should give them credit, though.  At least they try to give us nice garments, unlike so many other stores that sell things like this and this once you move out of the smaller sizes.  And they put forth the effort to show their leggings, even the hideous ones, on nice-looking models with fancy shoes, as opposed to their sister store, Fashion Bug.  But even so, it's going to take a while before I can forgive them for cargo leggings.  At least until the next sweater sale.

Madly,
Molly

The Snowmobile

My family is overrun with good storytellers.  I found this out in 1995 when we had our first family reunion.  We all sat under a big, white tent in my aunt's driveway in Virginia while my mom and her siblings told all the family's stories.  Some were old standbys, like the time Jimmy and Art opened all the Christmas presents.  Others shed light on decades-old mysteries.  We found out, after multiple years and theories, who actually put the beer under the wash house.  It was Jack, who also confessed to accidentally shooting the neighbor's mule with a gun he had purchased on the sly.  The highlight, for me at least, was my uncle Dan's infamous Snowmobile Story.  You can hear it for yourself.  That dork in the overalls is me.

An introduction

I've had this blog for a week now and haven't written anything yet.  I have started thinking in narrations.  "My least favorite part of going to the store has always been...  No, that will be boring.  My MOST favorite part of going to the store..."  and so on.  Today, I pull the trigger.  Here is my first post.

A friend asked me what this blog is to be about.  At least I already knew that bit.  It's about me.  Duh.  But it's certainly not about me as a parent.  In fact, my intention is to include (and hopefully discover) as much about myself as I can without discussing parenting.  And in categorically eliminating that topic, it becomes the basis for this entire project.  After all, I wouldn't need to be reminded of myself if I hadn't, like so many other mothers I've encountered, forgotten about whatever it was that excited me a few years ago.

So, as a jumping off point, here is a list of five things I like (in no particular order) other than my immediate family.  It's a game I play from time to time to cheer myself up.  I'd love to hear your list, too.

1.  Swing dancing, even if I'm not that good.
2.  Painting, even if I'm not that good.
3.  Baking, at which I am excellent.  Seriously, you've never lived until you've had my Kentucky pound cake.
4.  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy as portrayed by Colin Firth.
5.  Carbs.

And there you have it.  Welcome to my blog.

Madly,
Molly