January 17, 2010 · 8:02 am

Dance As If No One Was Watching

“To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful. This is power, it is glory on earth and it is yours for the taking.” ~Agnes De Mille

“Dancers are the athletes of God.” ~Albert Einstein

“Whatever you want to do, do it. There are only so many tomorrows”

“The people who do not dance are the dead.” ~Jerry Rose of Dance Caravan

“You know you’re dancing when tears of pain and happiness blend in with your sweat” ~anonymous

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One response to “Dance As If No One Was Watching”

  1. shoreacres
    January 17, 2010 at 8:19 am

    Laissez les bon temps rouler!

    This is a world I know something about, and love. One of these days some stories will show up over at my place about Breaux Bridge, and Whiskey River over at the Henderson Levee, and Sunday afternoon dances at Vermillionville and…and…

    I can’t wait to get back over there. My first trip sent me back home with a passion to dance – even went up into Houston and took zydeco lessons. Our instructor was a great teacher, born and bred to the dance. He grew up in Lafayette, steeped in the music.

    Good gosh. If I got in the car right now, I could be in Lafayette or Breaux Bridge in time for the fiddles to start tuning…..

    I always used to love watching the older couples dancing at the fais do dos (Never knew what that meant until I lived in France and learned to speak the language. Always thought it meant “party.” It literally translates as make sleepy or tired, and they sure do that. I made the connection when my girlfriend, who was from Dunkerque said “Je vais doh doh,” I’m going to bed.) they always moved as one. Blended from years of practice.

    Here’s one you can appreciate…I had been invited to my first genuine Cajun crawfishfish boil in Des Allemands. Of course there was the traditional three-piece Cajun band-accordion, fiddle and triangle. Mud bugs piled steaming hot on newspapers spread over the tables under the live oaks and tubs of long-neck Dixie beer. At the end of the festivities when we were wrapping up the remainders of the feast I asked the host where we should dump the stuff. He said (and I wish I could write that wonderful Cajun accent out, but I know you can hear it in your head) “Juss take it across da road and trow it in da wauta. It all be Bayou Degradable.”