Irish Dancing
I had a great night.
Trisha was our evening coordinator. We visited Paul, and then had a respite at the Venetian restaurant Venezia, then back home where Trisha introduced me to Violent Femmes dance songs. Trisha dances wonderfully! We decided to go out dancing. I suggested music at the Starry Plough.
I brought a slinky. Just in case.
The Starry Plough has live music every night. Tonight was Irish Country Dancing. The steps were too complicated for the uninitiated, so we sat and watched. Trisha had been invited to a country dance in Ireland, but alas, her Mom wanted her not to go. But here we were, fate puts Irish dance in Trisha's way again! Coincidentally, she looked fetchingly Irish in her plaid wool tam.
An older woman walked past, did a double take, and backtracked to warn us about leaving our purses unattended on the bar. Especially since we were sitting right next to the open door. "They come in off the street, use the restroom, sweep by on their way out, and take your purse. I've seen it happen." She walked on, happy to have made a difference.
Later I chatted with the purse lady. She has been at the club for 33 years. She knows who is regular, on what nights, and at which tables. She was surrounded by a small crowd of groupies, men who doted on her and laughed at her jokes. She was the Duenna of the Starry Plough. I think we made a good impression on her.
Trisha developed curiosity about a moody-looking journal writer, pensively drinking his beer. She asked what he was doodling. Animated conversation ensued.
The dancing ended. Left to my own devices, I wandered up to the stage. After awhile, my slinky became the focal point, and I was introduced to Donald and Rebecca. Animated conversation ensued.
As we amused ourselves "walking downstairs" with the slinky, I noticed Donald was attentive and quirky, and had deep, clear green eyes. What was he doing here? Were the dancers all old friends? He had been dragged to an English Country Dance at RenFair by Rebecca, who immediately disappeared, but it was okay, he was already hooked on the music and movement. Rebecca dragged Donald to a succession of dances, this, that, contra, etc., but Irish dance was the best. He had heard the music before and quite liked it, but it never occurred to him that you could actually dance to it, until he saw people doing it.
Also, dancing forces him to be sociable, which was important "back then."
Donald seemed fascinated by the Quest for the Colored Soap Bubble, the problem of the lipid bilayer, the tendency of heavy dye molecules to sink to the bottom and form a colored dot, a dye discovery, the accolades of toy manufacturers for finding the "holy grail" of toys. But then the colored bubbles popped and left stains GASP! a patient wife, hundreds of thousands of dollars spent. A dye that didn't stain! Palmolive switched formulas, and his secret method tragically failed! Sadly, I had read only 7 pages out of 11, which left us both in suspense. Did the inventor get colored bubble to market? Was he still looking for the right detergent? Zubbles. Stay tuned for more...
At that point, Trisha wandered up, and we all chatted a bit.
Thinking of the warnings the Duenna gave us about purses, I asked if she had hers, thereby inadvertently triggering the universal "it's time to leave" function, and was abruptly swept out of the Starry Plough.
I might go back to learn Irish dancing.