So I think I can dance!

I was not one of those sweet little girls who took jazz/tap/ballet growing up.  Alright, I take that back.  There was that time when I was in kindergarten.  Mom enrolled me in ballet.  My only memories of that experience involve the end-of-the-year ballet recital.  It involved a yellow tutu, gold sequins, a missing head piece, and bright yellow ballet slippers that were SUPPOSED to be GOLD--shiny, shimmery, metallic gold.  Not dandelion yellow, Mom and Dad.  And that missing headpiece... well, the yellow Kleenex Mom bobby-pinned to my head was a nice try.
Oh, and then there was that time when I was 16 and decided to sign up for jazz and ballet along with my little sisters, Rebecca and Myra, who were 9 and 7 at the time.  Apparently there were no "beginners" classes for 5'9" sixteen year olds.  So, yes, I was put in the same class as my wee sisters.  There was nothing pretty about that.  Just imagine the recital--me, being the tallest dancer in the class, smack-dab in the middle of the stage, surrounded by little munchkins in matching costumes.  It was horrifying.  Maybe that's why I can still remember most of the dance we performed--a little trauma will do that to you.
That leads me to my time in musical theater.  I could sing; I could act; but everyone knew I needed individual, intensive instruction to figure out the dance steps.  My M.O. was to distract the audience with inane facial expressions during dance numbers.
Dancing with friends at dance clubs earned me my own special space on the dance floor.  Not the kind of "Wow, who's that hot dancing chick?" space; it was more like "Wow.  Let's give her some space so no one gets hurt" kind of space.  I also earned the nickname "Uma", because apparently I channeled Uma Thurman's moves from Pulp Fiction or something.  I don't think that was a good thing.
One last dancing memory involves my stint with Franklin Footlight Theatre in New Hampshire.  When I got it into my head to audition for their production of "Chicago", I was filled with dread, knowing that the show would be dance-intensive.  I knew I could not blow the audition by letting my nerves get the best of me.  I here and now admit to smuggling a small flask of vodka into the audition and shooting it down fifteen minutes before the dance audition.  It did the trick and I was cast in Chicago, and I danced my arse off throughout the entire production.
Despite my lack of talent, my adult dancing experiences have always filled me with joy.  When I dance, I am transported to my own private world.  Good dance music flows through me, and no matter how my body interprets the beats, my mind and spirit FEEL IT.
This leads me to my new favorite dance thing in life: ZUMBA.  Have you heard of it?  Have you tried it?  It's the latest, greatest exercise fad to sweep gyms across America.  Zumba is a Latin/World music dance class that happens to work your body like no other cardio workout I know of.  "Ditch the workout, join the party!" is the official tag line of Zumba.  I first heard of Zumba through my sister, Rebecca, who has absolutely raved about it for the past year.  When I discovered that my gym here in Sonoma holds three weekly Zumba classes, I decided to give it a whirl.  Well, I am smitten--with the class and with my instructor, Lauren, quite possibly the most incredible dancer I have ever seen.  I am that girl who still requires a bit more space than the average participant, and I am the girl that has the exuberant, partially spaced out Cheshire Cat grin on her face through the entire class.  But Zumba (and Lauren) have finally proved something to me: I CAN dance!  And I LOVE it!
Here's a funny aside to add to my reputation of being "that girl" in Zumba.  Last week, Polly delivered a full meal from her restaurant to me IN CLASS.  She had told me earlier in the day that she would meet me after class to give me food to take home to the boys.  She was early, so she decided to drop the bag of food off for me.  She peeked in the door of the classroom, made eye contact with me as I danced in the far corner of the room, and set a huge brown bag right by the door.  Of course, no one near the door knew who Polly was or what she was doing, or for that matter what was in the bag.  It was suspicious behavior to say the least and there were murmurs: "What's in the bag that?  Is it a bomb?"  In no less than 30 second, the entire classroom was absolutely overwhelmed by the aroma of gnocchi with white wine mushroom sauce, olive tapenade, and homemade bread.  "It's worse than a bomb!" screamed Lauren, the instructor, "It's dinner!"  The roomful of 45 Zumba-ers instantly lost all concentration, started dripping drool and running into each other.  "Oh, that," I sheepishly eked, "Sorry about that.  That's just my dinner," as I whisked the bag out to the front desk.  Yeah, I'm that girl.  The girl who gets dinner delivered to her at Zumba.  Nice.
Here are some very blurry shots from a special Zumba Winterfest event I attended on my own a few days ago.  I only had my little point and shoot camera with me, but I hope the shots give you a little feel for the fun I am having with my latest dance craze.

 

Lauren--Zumba instructor extraordinaire

  

Everybody ZUMBA!

  

 Me in the center

Lauren leading a crowd of little kids on stage, leading a crowd of big kids on the floor below