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Ideal 017Dancing for me has been a real lifesaver lately.  It’s always been the perfect prescription for a broken heart.  Last year, Salsa could have saved me from feeling sorry for myself  and embarking on a long-term relationship with Ben and Jerry. But it didn’t;  it wasn’t enough to get me through my most  recent  relationship derailment.  Salsa is such a joyful dance but I was too sad to even attempt it.

When it comes to dwelling in sadness, Tango is just the thing.  The music, the lyrics, the longing: it was exactly what I needed.  During my week in BsAs, the sad strains of tango pulled me back from a trail of tears. I channeled all of my regrets and melancholy on to the dance floor.

My friends like to tease me about my passion for dancing. Like everything else in my life (including my love life) it’s an all-or-nothing deal.  “Soon,” they say, “we’ll be seeing you on Dancing with the Stars.”  Ha! If they only knew…

I am not a natural dancer.  I come by lots of other things naturally (languages, diplomacy and falling for the wrong men), but when God was giving out grace and coordination I must have been the last in line.  Whatever little talent dust was leftover in the cosmic gift bag and was sprinkled on me never made it past my neck.

So I have to work for every step.  And work I do.  When it comes to mastering a skill that is just slightly beyond me, the one thing that saves me is my stubbornness.  It’s an “I’ll Show You” attitude that allows me to shrug at my missteps, laugh at myself and try again and again and again.

Take, for example, my morning technique classes.  I practiced walking for five days.  How hard could it be, right?  You would think walking is an easy thing since we do it every day.  But let me tell you, it is not.  Walking in Tango requires deliberation, precision and balance, and I was as wobbly as a newborn colt.  After my first class I felt a bit dejected at not being able to master such a simple task.

Later that day, my first Tango dance lesson was only slightly better.  Since I was in Latin America, I was doing my best to channel that superstar of song, that mistress of movement, that diva of dance Shakira, but to no avail.  She’s right,  “hips don’t lie,” and mine were a dead give away.  Trying to master the contradictory movements of keeping your upper torso still while moving only your hips is nothing short of impossible – at least for me.

I was dreading my first milonga that evening at Nino Bien.  But since I had nowhere to go but up, I surprised both myself and my practice partners on the dance floor.  Every day the steps got a little easier as I became more confident.  By the end of the week and my last  Milonga at Confiteria Ideal (photo), I was dancing steps I never thought possible: the elegant walz, the fast paced milonga and, yes, even a little salsa.

You can leave your hat on...The Tango Sharks were out in full force and let me tell you this is one time you won’t mind being bitten.

Catherine La Rose with Cliver Gomez Araujo in Lo de CeliaLast night I stepped on some of the finest toes in Argentina!  This is Cliver Gomez who can make even this beginner look great.  Special thanks to Jantango who introduced me to Cliver and all of the milongueros at Lo de Celia.  It was an amazing experience. Thank you Janis!!!

 

*photo by jantango

shoesSmallMy first stop on my trip was to the Tango shoe store, Comme Il Faut (loosely translated, it means as is necessary) to purchase a pair of dancing shoes.   And we all know how necessary shoes are to women. And if sexy shoes are necessary to women in general, the right Tango shoes are essential to women who dance.

The store, which is a combination of small showroom and stockroom, was full of women that afternoon.  Shoes of every color, texture, pattern and design were scattered all over the floor.  It reminded me of the shoe department of Nordstrom’s on a Saturday afternoon. The women didn’t know where to look first.

No sooner had one tried on and modeled a pair of two-tone gold and silver Greek style shoes then her attention was quickly diverted to her neighbour’s newly arrived boxes.  The sounds coming from that showroom were nothing short of orgasmic.

I heard one loud woman complain to the young sales assistant that she “wasn’t being shown shoes like those,” and she pointed to the woman across the room who was trying on a polka dotted 1940s style model.  Good grief, I thought we’re going to have to write an 11th commandment, “Thou shall not covet they neighbours shoes.”  The sales assistant patiently explained that there were more models available in smaller sizes than her large size 8. Good for you, honey! I thought. The loud woman said no more.

I opened my first box of shoes, a combination of suede green open toe and black backed shoes that closed with a black satin ribbon across the ankle. They were exquisite. And then I took one look at the four-inch stiletto heel, a shiny patent leather green, and I said to the sales assistant, “You’ve got to be kidding!  You expect me to dance in these?”

Dance? I couldn’t stand up in them let alone imagine myself dancing Tango.  I  said a silent prayer of thanks that I had remembered to pack my much more sensible salsa shoes with the two-and-a-half-inch square heel.  At the very least I could fall back on those well-worn dance shoes.

The sales assistant gave me an amused  “but of course” look and a little nod of encouragement.  “Probar” she said, which I think means try.  Oh what the heck, I thought. I had come this far and I at least owed to myself to try them on.  They weren’t uncomfortable so much as they were unfamiliar.  Hmm maybe, just maybe I could do this.

After an hour of trial and retrial of about two dozen different styles (too much choice confuses me) , I settled on a smart pair of black and red leather shoes in a three-and-a-half-inch heel.  I went for the “smaller” size. They didn’t look at that much smaller but psychologically speaking it helped get over the height hurdle in my head.

Later that afternoon when I wore them to a practise session I was surprised at how comfortable they were.  The height and the angle of the shoe positioned me on my toes, metatarsals to be exact, which are exactly where you are supposed to be when you dance tango.  I could feel an improvement in my posture and movement.  In my head I heard music, not tango music, but the words to a song I had loved as a teenager, Leo Sayer´s, “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.”And they did.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/Fitzer

Arrived…

AvatarIt’s funny how it’s the simple things these days that give me the most pleasure.  That’s not to say that I won’t appreciate the week I will be spending in BsAs.  It will be my own personal version of Eat, Dance, Sleep.  The intensive Tango tour that I booked last month via the Internet promised to look after every detail.

For once, I thought,  I will allow myself to be spoiled without the residual feelings of guilt that normally accompanies anything I do that either feels or looks the least bit selfish on the surface. So I ask myself, is it selfishness or self-preservation?  The answer to that question is: enough of the guilt already. Oy vey!

A steady diet of international business travel had finally taken its toll;  I practically ran to the airport to make the trip. That in itself is an amazing thing because normally I don’t get on a plane unless I’m paid to do so.  But I am so bone tired in body and soul that the only way I knew to catch my breath was to get away unencumbered.

And I was able to do that with a little help from my friends in our IT Department. Funny, it is only in retrospect just two days later that I now realize how much I appreciate those IT guys taking their time with my laptop and not turning it around in time for this trip.  Their missing the FedEx cutoff for my shipment would normally have had me narrowing my eyes and sending short breaths out of my nostrils.  However, this time I took a deep breath shrugged my shoulders, let it go and got myself gone.

Locals, when they hear about my tour, tell me I’ve paid too much. And it’s probably true. But for someone who had no resources on the ground before she arrived, it was the best I could do. And so rather than fret about it I am revelling  in the fact that for the first time in years I am on a vacation that I didn’t have to plan.  I’m not the social director; I didn’t have to choose the restaurants, the sites or the milongas.  All I had to do was show up.

I am used to orchestrating my own departures, arrivals, accommodations and transport in-between.  I am used to schlepping luggage, running for shuttles, fighting with stubborn ticket vending machines and dealing with surly information desk people.  (Sometimes I am tempted to ask them if they enjoy their job, but then I if you ever saw me in route you’d probably wonder the same thing.) This time when I arrived at the gate in BsAs there was a sign with my name on it.  Attached to that sign was the smiling face of a young woman who was there to escort me to my hotel.

What a treat.  I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve landed at an overseas airport and wished for just such a sign on the other side of the arrivals gate.  Actually I can tell you the number of times – it’s every time.  But it has never happened.

What happens is that I square my shoulders, take a deep breath and cross the threshold into a teaming throng of people waiting for friends, associates, clients and loved ones.  I steel myself to run the gauntlet of arriving ditherers and guppies.  Guppies, my own classification, are people who stand blocking the exit with their mouths opening and closing, while we the weary pile up behind them, as they try and get their bearings and I try and get into the rhythm of a long road trip ahead.   This is how every trip begins.

Well almost every trip.

maple leafSmallI have a half an hour wait before they call the flight to DC with a later onward connection to BsAs. I am traveling without my laptop and I must admit I feel a bit naked and a little anxious. I keep reaching for a computer bag that isn’t there. The IT guys didn’t get it back to me on time – so it looks like the universe is ensuring that this is a real vacation. No peaking at emails…or cheating. How quickly work becomes a crutch if we let it. However, I was a bit disappointed because I had planned on using the time to do some writing and some re-writes for the book. All is not lost though as I will make do with computers in the airport lounges and the hotel business center. This is a good way for me to focus on writing and not working. So I say thank you universe.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/LOVE_LIFE

My Last Date…

my dateYou know, for a Cafe Girl who’s used to more than her fair share of on-line interest, and friends and family fix-ups, it has been a very dry season.  Nothing, niente, nada! Not even coffee in months.

I sometimes think that the Gods must have other plans because I am now elbow deep in re-writing my book ,and they are doing their darndest to keep me focussed.  At least it seems that way to me.

I’m hoping that the trip south to BsAs yields a more interesting mix of dancing and dalliance. After all (note to the Gods), I’m only there temporarily so there is no danger of a more permanent distraction.

Mousse au ChocolatWhen it comes to lust on the big screen (and in life) if you’ve seen one sex scene you’ve seen ‘em all. That’s why the take your breath away moments that are burnt into our brains have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with seduction.

Here are a few of my favorite big screen seduction scenes…

This one is by far head and shoulders above the rest. Robert Redford (Denys Finch Hatton) washing Meryl Streep’s hair (Karen Blixen) while on safari in Out of Africa. The tender attention he lavishes upon her tresses gives new meaning to the phrase a “good hair day.”

There’s more than coffee brewing in the kitchen with Clint Eastwood (Robert Kincaid) slow dancing with Meryl Streep (Francesca) in Bridges of Madison County.

Is he or isn’t he?  One wonders just exactly what Kevin Costner (Crash Davis) is doing to the bed bound Susan Sarandon (Annie Savoy) as she writhes with pleasure. As the camera pulls away we see him painting her toe nails red.   That’s the real scene stealer  in Bull Durham.

Got a light?  It’s just one of the famous cigarettes scenes, in Now Voyager as Paul Henreid (Jeramiah Durrance) lights two cigarettes and with an elegant turn of his wrist  suggestively places one in Bette Davis’s (Charlotte Vale) lips.

1) If seduction is an art, consider this a canvas and yourself the artist. Paint us a picture of the most seductive thing you’ve ever done or said that has yielded the desired results.

2) Or if you have been on the receiving end of such attentions tells us about that too. What was the most seductive moment you’ve experienced at the hands of your lover?

photo: © istockphoto.com/monkeybusinessimages

Future Perfect

His & HersIf you live a life in the future perfect, it makes the present tense – Café Girl

 Living in the present takes practice.  It’s not always easy to be conscious of the present moment in my daily life let alone in a romantic relationship that is just picking up steam.  Let’s face it, who doesn’t have expectations?  You’d have to be a highly evolved Buddhist monk or an accomplished ascetic to achieve this state.

Forget the “c” word (commitment), it’s the “e” word (expectations) that’s the problem.  We’re conditioned by popular culture to have expectations…unless of course you’re my bag lady.  Movies, music, countless magazines, and books, they all tell us how it’s supposed to be.  They sow the weeds of discontent which we must remember to pluck from our garden if it is to thrive.  Charles Dickens wasn’t the only one to have Great Expectations.  We all do.

Over the years and with lots of practice, my expectations of people have become less and less.  I would like to say that they’ve become non-existent but that’s just not true. I haven’t achieved that level of detachment so I’m not quite ready for the monastery yet.  However I have gotten much better at managing my expectations.

They’ve been scaled back from a vision of happily ever complete with his and her towels to daydreaming about a romantic weekend getaway next month.  And when I can manage them down to the present moment, I will have achieved nirvana.  But until then…

I often think of that scene in the movie Bridget Jones’s Diary where Bridget fast forwards from the present moment of racy emails with the office scoundrel directly to her wedding reception in the blink of an eye.   Mustn’t read too much into it she thinks to herself.   How many times I have projected myself in the future? I don’t even want to think about it.  Eish!

 Time travel isn’t the stuff of science fiction it’s the stuff of every day life, it is such stuff as dreams are made on.  The future perfect is perhaps built on tantalizing glimpses of the possibilities sometimes given intentionally – sometimes not.  Regardless it’s our propensity to project with even the slightest bit of encouragement that unfortunately affects our here and now.  So what happens when the future doesn’t unfold like I have led myself to believe? It becomes the present tense.

photo: © istockphoto.com

 

ValentineMost people believe that relationships are based on chemistry.  But in order to see if chemistry or physics work (don’t forget about the laws of attraction) you have to meet enough men to see if there is any chemistry to begin with. So it really starts with mathematics and the laws of probability.

I figured the more men I met, the more probable it was that I would encounter someone to whom I am attracted (physics), and someone who alters the chemical composition of my brain (chemistry).  Although math was never one of my best subjects, I knew enough to realize that doing nothing to meet men would yield nothing.

Normally I shy away from math and science but this is rather simple math.  That’s the good news.  The bad news is I’m talking long odds here.  But I try not to get discouraged because I know it’s the long shots that pay off the best.

After 20 years of settling, I was unwilling to “settle” for just anyone – and so I was prepared to drink a lot of coffee and use my newly acquired experience to make some discerning choices.  I had quickly come to realize that drinking coffee has become the modern day equivalent of kissing frogs.

I had met quite a few men who had dazzled me with their charm.  Could this be him, I wondered?  So soon?  They may have been good looking, wealthy and well educated but they were also cheap and rude to waiters.  In the beginning I used to think that they would improve over time.  But that only happens with wine.

Yes I confess when I had much less experience, I had, hmmm how should I put this, made allowances for behavior I wouldn’t accept from a friend let alone a stranger. There I said it.  How humiliating. But everyone makes mistakes. The good news is, it’s not the mistakes I made, so much as it was the lessons that I learned.

Was I so needy, starved for attention, lonely that I found things acceptable with a stranger that I wouldn’t tolerate in a marriage?  Yes, I guess I was, but not any more.  So what happened?

I stopped taking things so seriously. I decided to have fun.  I didn’t approach every date as if it were my last and every man as if he were my last chance for happiness.  In my age group (middle aged baby boomers) there were plenty of available men out there.  I just had to meet them.  And I did.

So here it is.  If you break 100% down into equal thirds you get 33.3%, 33.3% and 33.3%.  Let’s put aside the .3 % in each third (or the 1% that they add up to) for now.  I’ll come back to that in another post with specific examples.

In the first 33% – I’d meet a man and I think he’s great. But he doesn’t feel the same way about me.   It’s always a little disappointing when he doesn’t call for a second date even though I thought things went swimmingly. Oh well…you think to yourself. There goes a perfectly good date to my niece’s wedding.

In the second one third of the dating pool, he thinks I’m the next best thing since golf and a grey goose martini but alas, he doesn’t do it for me. So I dance around the idea of a next date, and I tell him I’ll be in touch.  Of course I never am.  Okay so right now things are about even.

Finally in this last third, we meet at the café, shake hands or exchange a peck on both cheeks (since I live in Montreal) and we both decide that this is not going beyond coffee.  This is the easiest of all three scenarios because we both can tell the truth without having to worry about hurt feelings.  In fact, these have been some of the most enjoyable dates I have been on because we’re playing for fun and not for keeps.

So where does that leave me?  Well with the one percent accumulated over each of the thirds.  As I said it’s pretty long odds.  (More on that one percent later!) But at this point in my life, I have had enough of settling and compromise so I am willing to wait.  Most people would rather be happy alone than miserable in a couple.  The grass may seem greener on the other side of the fence – but sometimes it’s just Astroturf.