Dancing As Fast As I Can

Barbara: Cheesy title maybe, but hey, a girl’s gotta pun. And also it is very apropos.

I’ve posted here before about my sister’s amazing dance festival. She lives in Guelph, which is a small city about 45 minutes outside Toronto. Catrina’s background was in contemporary dance, a dance form I think you’re probably all at least somewhat familiar with (thanks, in part, to shows like So You Think You Can Dance—my fave guilty pleasure). Before that, she was a dancer-choreographer who traveled the world with some prestigious Montreal dance companies. But she fell in love and married and found herself happily settled in Guelph. Fourteen years ago, she and a friend and fellow dancer decided to found a dance festival that would bring contemporary dance artists from around the country (or the world, for that matter) to the intimate setting of their adopted city. It would be a way to bring dance to the locals, as well as giving performers a chance to work outside a major metropolitan city. They knew it might not be easy; they didn’t care. And so the Guelph Contemporary Dance Festival was born!

Janet and Catrina (how cute are they?)

Catrina and Janet have nurtured and built an amazing celebration of dance. It's been so successful, in fact, that it developed beyond the Festival to a year-round hub of all things dance-related: camps, workshops, fundraisers, one-off performances, etc, etc. But the Festival! Oh, the Festival. It is now four days of some of the best contemporary dance artists in the country performing all over the city: in the natural theatre of the park; in the concrete jungle of City Square; in studios so small you can see the dancers’ sweat; and on the traditional stage. You become immersed in this walking adventure of dance, moving from locale to locale to watch the artistry. 

Karen Kaeja Bird's Eye View. Photo by Anuta Skrypnychenko.

Wants&Needs Danse performing Chorus Two. Photo by Celia Spenard-Ko.

Zata Omm Dance Projects performing Bodhi Tree Duet. Photo by David Hou.

If you’ve experienced performance like this before then you know what I mean when I say it is moving beyond words. The pure expression of emotion—whether angry, sad, twisted, questioning, joyful, serene—plays through you like your own body is up there moving, or as if the energy of the dancer’s body is keyed into your own and powers it from this higher, connected source. I mean, all dance can do this, but there is something about seeing it in a person who is a mere few feet away and who is conveying their story in a way you have probably never seen before. There is something to the surprise of that.

If you’re in the area, I highly recommend checking it out. You can find all the info here.

If you’re not, let me tell you another reason why I’m sharing this story. For the last several months, I have gone outside my comfort zone and taken on the role of the Festival PR. When their usual PR person went on mat leave and in a serendipitous moment wherein I expressed an interest in this kind of work and my sister a need for someone to do it, we just looked at each other and realized that it would be stupid (and kinda rude to Serendipity) to ignore it. After all, it wasn’t a full-time job, it might only be for this year, and it would teach me many invaluable lessons. 

And what an adventure it’s been.

What am I most proud of? Probably the blog that I conceived and started, that I now oversee, organizing the contributors, mostly dancers, giving them a showcase, and inviting them to translate their movement into words (which they do remarkably well!). 

I have absolutely loved being part of this unique and special organization: it is inspired, supportive, curious and creative. I have loved (for the most part) the work that I need to do for them. I have loved seeing a dynamic venture from the inside and bringing my own ideas and thoughts to them.

But—and this is only a mild “but”, a truthful “but”—I am also a perfectionist, especially when it comes to my own work, and there have been many moments along the way of doubt and fear. Doubt that I could do it, fear that I would forget something vital. This is the last week before the weekend of performances, so trust me when I say the heart is pumping and the mind is whirring. I am, on the one hand, confident, on the other, insecure. Angel/Devil are having their way with me. And if I feel like this, I can’t imagine how my sister and her company partner must have felt over the years as they developed a nascent idea into a full-fledged extravaganza.

So I am here to confirm once again that if you want to try something new, go for it, go on that adventure (and tell us about it!), and don’t be held back by stupid insecurities and fears. On Friday I will head down to Guelph, my work mostly done (well, except for the fun meeting of people), and maybe the whirring will slow down a bit and I can soak up the sheer beauty of this magical weekend. That’s when my heart will slow down and fill up the way it always does when I see something truly AWE-some.

My niece! 

Deb: Barbara, you have poured your heart and soul into this and I know what it has meant to you. I also know very well your professional ethic and how goal-oriented you are. But more than that, I am sure of your heart commitment in every single thing you do. I cannot believe I have never experienced this. Next year I am going!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nursing The Blurt

Barbara: So we’ve talked here about how we’ve blurted awkward things (“How far along are you?” to someone who isn’t pregnant) and lived to rue the day. But yesterday, I was on the receiving end.

Yup. It hurts.

Last year I wrote about my sister’s amazing dance festival, remember? It is one of my most cherished yearly celebrations. But yesterday, a series of snafus almost kept me from attending. First there was the pounding thunderstorm that caused the cancelation of the outdoor events, then the blackouts that threatened the indoor ones, then when I was finally confident I could make the one hour trek to Guelph and enjoy the scheduled performances, I realized I had to drop my daughter and her friend off at a point halfway between my home and the festival. All this to say that I had exactly one minute to spare to pick up my ticket and find my seat when I finally arrived at the theatre, drenched in sweat and panting breathlessly. “The ticket is under Radecki,” I say to the box office clerk. Who answers, excited, clearly honoured to meet me, “Radecki?! Are you Catrina’s mother?!”  

The world implodes. As does my ego. Did you hear it in Arkansas? It was loud.

“I’m her sister,” I say. I can honestly say I answered graciously. My eyes might have averted a bit. I may have busied myself with some fictitious purse searching. The clerk immediately scrambled. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that we were JUST talking about Catrina’s mom and her art. And I was going to ask, Did you have her when you were five? I hope you don’t…” Her cringing was as horrible as my own.

Please believe me when I say: I’m not telling you this to get your outraged support or your encouragement of my youthful good looks. Really. I am telling you because it happened. And it happens to all of us at some time. And talking about it makes it seem way funnier than the incessant reverberating in my brain: “her mother?” “her mother?” “her MOTHER?!!!”

I feel bad for the blurter. We’ve all done it at some time and must be let off the proverbial hook. But I can also say that I am going to have to work frickin’ hard to wash that blurt from my brain and let it go. At least the show was awesome!

Deb: Oh yes. Oh yes. I have been on the receiving end of this one, my dear. My Dad is 84 and I was taking him to one of his many doctor’s appointments and the nurse said “I’m sorry, Mr. McGrath, but I’m going to have to take some blood,” and Dad said, “As long as it comes with a kiss, nurse,” and she said (you know where this is going don’t you?), “Well, Mr. McGrath, I’ll leave the kissing up to your wife here.” Do I need to say anything else? HE IS 84!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And darling Barb, I know you were not looking for an ego boost but all I can tell you, dear readers, is that Barb’s gorgeous photos do not do her beauty justice. She is a stunner. At Stef’s fashion show last year, I thought, “Wow, they look like they could be sisters”. And believe me, that’s no insult to Stef!

PS On a yummier note, we have a new Deco Tip and Easy Recipe for you guys this week!

Don’t Bring Me Down!

Deb: Recently a friend was talking about an aspect of her appearance that she hated, lamenting about it. I said that I didn’t agree as I thought she was lovely, which is true. She then said––referring to said appearance-challenge––that I should know what she means given that we share the same atrocity. 

Well, I don’t mind telling you that it bummed me out for a month. A full fucking calendar month … of a 31-dayer! Firstly, it bummed me because I DO NOT SHARE THIS ATROCITY WITH HER! And secondly because ... SHUT UP. Don’t suck me into your whirlpool of despair!

A few weeks later another friend was talking about one of our dear friends and her considerable talents. She said (referring to her own perceived lesser talent) that just like US (she and I), she was just not up to snuff in this particular talent-arena. This bummed me because number one, I DO NOT SHARE THIS LACK OF TALENT, and number two ... SHUT UP. Don’t suck me into your whirlpool of insecurity.

Misery adores company to be sure, but if you have issues, they are your issues. Attaching me to them won’t make your problems go away! All they will serve to do is either make me feel badly about myself or make me resent you for your lack of tact.

Oscar Wilde said, “It is not enough merely to succeed, my friends must also fail.” I do NOT subscribe to this theory. I cheer my friends. I support my friends. I talk my friends up! I network and name-drop my talented friends and try to work with them whenever I can. In fairness, my enemies can fail. Don’t care really. But ... it always pisses me off when I am sucked into the black hole of jealousy and insecurity that I didn’t sign up for!

So talk me up or leave me out. But as the song says, “Don’t bring me down. No, no, no. Don’t bring me down”!

Barbara: God yes, Deb! I have a loud enough inner-voice that has no problem pointing out all my ineptitudes, weaknesses, foibles, and failures. I don’t need a well-meaning friend to add to the chorus. Especially a “well-meaning friend”!

It’s like the pea in the princess’s bed. After you walk miles in the rain and finally collapse in relief atop a tower of feather-soft mattresses, there it is: the godforsaken pea. The test, the irritant, the destroyer of everything fought so hard for and preciously gained. And now your sweet sleep of self-esteem is totally screwed. 

We’ve been everything from “gossips” to “highly competitive” to “crazy spenders” (and a gamut in between). And sorry, but NONE of these things describes me either. Unless we’re talking about Scrabble with my sisters in the middle of a designer sample sale. Wait, what were we talking about?

Anyway, Deb, you and me and the readers of this blog and a bunch of other people, we’re totally awesome.