Tiny Dancer: 2014

Posted by Tiny Dancer / Tuesday, November 4, 2014 / No comments / Viva

October Joy

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Luke and Justine got engaged!</div>
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Later that day, as Caleb, Sean, Henry and I are 
celebrating the good news, Luke appears on his way to a gala and reveals
 himself as quite the catch.<br />
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And Hannah got a better job! ...And was able to come home for a few days before it started. She painted parts of the fence, helped seal the cabin, played with Rosie, cleaned out a couple dresser drawers, re-read old journals in the quiet sunshine and took long walks in the woods.<br />
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I learned this summer that it is a national humiliation for the 
German train line, OBB to be two minutes late.  Our expectations are not
 so high.  Perhaps that is why I received some raised eyebrows from 
world travelers who did not consider rail travel in the US as optimal. 
Hannah's Amtrak was delayed four hours.  Thankfully, it was a lovely day to hang out in the area.</div>
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The last green of summer lingers only in the pass. <br />
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Getting ready for winter.  Caleb came home a couple weekends and good-naturedly helped with repairs.<br />
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It doesn't look like it's a lot of work to caulk and seal the cabin and the studio in anticipation of the serious winter gales that howl and roar through these woods, but it was.<br />
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Scary Halloween... when even sweet little girls show a dark side.<br />
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Viva

October Joy

Luke and Justine got engaged! Later that day, as Caleb, Sean, Henry and I are celebrating the good news, Luk...

Posted by Tiny Dancer / Tuesday, October 14, 2014 / No comments / Viva

Indian Summer

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               I woke this morning to seven
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               circling outside my window on
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               swooping down into the woods</div>
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               and up again </div>
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               angling their wings to just float into the blue expanse. </div>
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The autumn day is warm and damp</div>
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expanding with the soft gold of the pear tree leaves.</div>
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Crows caw by the scarlet blueberry bushes</div>
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Six of them</div>
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And then leave.<br />
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                   The wind blows wild grey clouds
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                   Deepening the browns and burgundies of leaves flying across
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Between, patches of brilliant sunlight sweep up the hill,
setting fire to the orange sugar maples<br />
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A solitary goose flies overhead.</div>
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The tin on the old barn roof behind the house slams</div>
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And slams</div>
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And a storm roars in through the forest.</div>
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Viva

Indian Summer

I woke this morning to seven hawks circling outside my window on the second floor, ...

Posted by Tiny Dancer / Sunday, September 28, 2014 / No comments / Viva

Harrisonburg's International Festival

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When we moved to rural Virginia thirteen years ago, my first social event was a bonfire.  There some locals, already tuned on cheap beer (mop squeeze, they called it) were decrying the “Mexicans who stole their jobs.”  Further questioning revealed that in fact their employer, in a successful effort to avoid paying union rates, outsourced a part of the manufacturing process to a factory in Mexico.  Regardless of where the blame for that might lie, the locals had elected to lay it on Mexicans.  They each had met a couple, or Hispanics anyway, and had unsavory tales of laziness, stealing and unreliability.  I was questioning the wisdom of my decision to move our small family here.  It was particularly unnerving as we had just relocated from Austin, Texas where Hispanics outnumbered Caucasions in the elementary school my children attended… and we missed the warm embrace of their culture: the all-day parties where four generations celebrated each other; the ready laughter; and, the genuine caring.  It wasn’t unusual for children to go on over-nighters at their teacher’s home. <br />
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But we had moved to a puritanical outpost where the driving mentality appeared to be “spare the rod, spoil the child.”  The children were particularly lonely as they had just lost their father in an accident and now some of their teachers were terribly strict and cold.  An abused boy of meth addict parents kicked my six-year old son every chance he could, taunting him, “Your daddy ain’t dead.” The bus driver told the three of them to sit together so it would be easier to identify their remains in an accident as their DNA would be similar. They were also having a very difficult time understanding the thick Southern accent and poor grammar.  I vowed to take them to Manhattan twice a year.<br />
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Thankfully, as a country, the U.S. has come a long way in tolerance and respect over the past several years. Harrisonburg is the nearest city of any size, with a present population just over 51,000.  Yesterday was a beautiful autumn day for a ride, so I meandered over the country roads to check out its International Festival.<br />
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It was a proud and lovely celebration of its diversity. <br />
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It is quite surprising actually, how many countries are represented in this relatively small city. The Harrisonburg City Public Schools reported 41 different countries as the place of birth of its students, with 44 languages represented this year.  The Harrisonburg transplants set up booths or simply manned tables with information about their homeland and answered the questions of the curious. <br />
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Traditional tunic worn by Pakistani women.</div>
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Information about chocolate and tequila.</div>
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International food, clothing and assorted gifts were offered for sale, a runway was set up for a fashion show and children were invited to participate in regional crafts like origami, mask-making, and flute-making.<br />
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The crowd was treated to musical performances by musicians and dancers in traditional costume.  This is the seventeenth year of the festival.  In previous years, the Kurdish community has always performed its Dance of Joy as the finale, but this year bowed out as they are quite sad about the violence in northern Iraq and Kurdistan and could not bring themselves to dance.<br />
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Viva

Harrisonburg's International Festival

When we moved to rural Virginia thirteen years ago, my first social event was a bonfire. Ther...

Posted by Tiny Dancer / Wednesday, September 24, 2014 / No comments / Viva

Country Life & Paper Mills

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Few smells are more nauseous than paper mills.  A cold air inversion trapping the pollution in can extend miles and miles, smothering the most remote and otherwise pristine locales with a smell like rotten cabbage.  I was reminded that it is a matter of perspective by a government clerk who missed the fragrance of her hometown, Covington, Virginia where the above photo was taken of the Mead Westvaco plant.<br />
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Thankfully, Friday's weather did not trap the smell and surprisingly, I was not overwhelmed, even within half mile of the plant where I went to get my weed eater repaired.<br />
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The trip was a beautiful experience of country living.  At the end of the winding road from my home is a gas station.  As I made the turn, two hands shot up in greeting: one from a neighbor in the pickup truck at the pump; and, the other from a young man with whom he was yukking it up.  I say "yukking it up" as an onomatopoeia as that is what a lot of the thick southern accents sounds like to my ears.  Just this morning I had to ask someone to repeat a name on the telephone that sounded like "William" to me and was really "Glenn" when he slowly spelled it out.  I couldn't place the name of the young man, though it surprised me that he never seemed to age.  He was wearing a camouflage jacket and camouflage bill hat, which distinguished him from absolutely no one in this remote wilderness.<br />
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I stopped at the recycling and landfill outpost.  Now mind you, I have been away for a number of years working in another state… and I have lived in a number of different locales and I travel a bit, so names and faces often get mixed in the jumble of the thousands of people I have met over the years.  Still, there was that old couple.  He is thin and weathered of course, which country folk show much sooner than the jet set in Miami, but I would estimate he is in his early seventies, as is his wife.  He was scavenging through the deep garbage bin for metal salvage to sell.  She was sitting calmly in the pickup with the windows up though it was warm.  In fairness to her, the garbage bin next to her really does stink.  With her, it seemed more like a preservation of movement.  Why bother to crank down the window?  Although as I said, she is getting up there in years, there is something very childlike about her.  She always has that same peaceful smile on her face that makes her seem like a third grade girl.  They both waved.<br />
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I drove past dramatic bluish mountains to my left and right, past a clear river tumbling down toward the James, around hairpin turns hoping no deer would leap out and, in about forty minutes, made my way to the nearest bank.  I parked and went in as I needed to ask whether I might obtain a foreign currency draft to pay a hospital in Spain that did not have an online payment system.  The teller was, as I was afraid, utterly baffled by my request and I left with only the satisfaction of hearing the other teller proudly tell a customer that her niece was homecoming queen and my teller's delight in hearing this.<br />
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Then I went to the post office for some stamps.  The postmistress was very much on her game, efficiently pulling out a stash of post card stamps (this was the third relatively local post office I had been to over the past few weeks in heretofore unsuccessful bids to buy post card stamps) and she was extra nice.<br />
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Feeling warm-hearted, I drove to the farm equipment repair shop in the next town. They have a local reputation for being reasonably priced and fair, both of which they are.  Although I was hoping to get the weed-eater repaired on the spot, they did look at it and couldn't make it happen.  I still enjoyed exploring the farm store while I waited. The owner proudly gave me a personal tour.  Someone replaced the blade on my rusty old bow saw for free.  And the owner promised to have a pocket-size folding pruning saw on the shelf next week when I returned for my weed-eater, without me even committing to buying it.<br />
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It was such a far contrast to how I started out the week, arguing with a disreputable property management company, one of a few who take advantage of the college student community in Harrisonburg, Virginia and as it is just one community owned by a large real estate investment trust, I imagine they take advantage of this market with ungoverned tactics in landlord-friendly states nationwide.<br />
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In rural areas, everyone sees each other and transacts business together again and again, so there is an accountability that keeps people honest more readily and more genuine.

Viva

Country Life & Paper Mills

Few smells are more nauseous than paper mills. A cold air inversion trapping the pollution in can extend miles and miles, smothering the...

Posted by Tiny Dancer / Sunday, September 14, 2014 / No comments / Viva

Richmond, Virginia

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Almost 150 years after the fall of the Capitol of the Confederacy, Richmond still has an electric charge in the air.  The uneasy coexistence is no longer clearly the landed gentry vs. slaves, but it is still economic. Richmond, despite notable advancements in the arts, culinary and beer crafting scenes, as well as boasting the top public arts program in the country (Virginia Commonwealth University), still suffers one of the highest crime rates of communities, large and small, in America. </div>
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Not to say that there aren't beautiful and safe neighborhoods, like the residential neighborhood commonly called The Fan... and Carytown, the high end eclectic urban retail district just south of the Museum District, but pedestrians would be ill advised to get too comfortable walking down East Broad Street.  It is true that every city has its bad section, but Richmond is a little different in that its development is uneven, so that a civilized block may be followed by two dangerous blocks and then followed by another block populated by mainstream consumers.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Still, it is overall a happy place.  The Museum of Fine Arts hosts a free jazz performance every Thursday night, Art and Wine tours on Fridays and tango every third Thursday. Outdoor concerts are held regularly on Brown's Island.  The historic Byrd Theater plays movies every night for dirt cheap. And the collaboration of the G40 Art Summit (the name satirizing the G20 summit whose goal it is develop the world financially) and ArtWhino to form the Richmond Mural Project, with the intention of painting 100 murals around Richmond by street artists from all over the world over a period of five years (68 have gone up in the last three years) has leveled the playing field of high brow and low </span></div>
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Further, just a few days ago U.S. News and Travel cited Richmond as one of the top eight under radar cities in the world for its culinary offerings.  It also boasts a number of award-winning craft breweries, which these days also means a lot of fun in their beer gardens, perhaps playing bocci or with your dog.  </div>
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Hopefully, these positive changes will help ease the tensions and create opportunities for the city to more fully integrate.</div>
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Photos taken by Hannah Jingleheimer Smith</div>
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Viva

Richmond, Virginia

Almost 150 years after the fall of the Capitol of the Confederacy, Richmond still has an electric charge in the air. The uneasy ...

Posted by Tiny Dancer / Wednesday, September 10, 2014 / No comments / Viva

Fall and Budapest

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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was Fall when I
returned from Lockn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>Odd, that only the
preceding day and 45 miles away, it was blazing hot and summer was in full
swing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>That morning the ride through the
hills... 45 miles as the crow flies, but a full two hours of winding around wooded
mountain curves, down through hollows, past chilly streams, fields of joe pye
weed and farm land… the morning ride was foggy and cool. And when I pulled up
the driveway I was slapped in the face with the scent of pine and the changes
in the huge trees near the cabin. In the evening as I sat on the porch swing
the cricket chirping was louder than usual and holding fairly steady, but at a
more deliberate tempo than before I left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> 
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I never have known
what the other insects are that have made up my soundtrack since childhood, but
they had all dropped an octave and it was somehow clear that they were singing
their way on out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>“A band of angels
comin’ after me…”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I am reminded of the
angelic choir singing an American gospel in the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona
earlier this summer, seeing clearly the wild green and gold light radiating
through arched stain glass windows, framed with marzipan candy looking colored
balls on top of pinnacled alabaster towers with a hint of pineapple… and then
the cobalt turning into turquoise and Jesus sailing above the crowds bringing
streaming light from the sky through his heart and spreading it through the
cathedral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>It was pretty
magnificent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>The next photos in my
iPhone are of the interior of the Alhambra and though very little of my
four-month trip was devoted to notorious tourist cites, despite the crowds I
felt very alone in both of these buildings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> 
</span>Was it the love and intention in the building of them or something
inherent in the design that made the spaces sacred? A third possibility with
the Alhambra was the influence of what happened there over the years. The walls
must absorb some of the energy into its stone and clay. History was everywhere…
in the arches leading to the castle above Salzburg, in Edinburgh, in Florence.
It felt as though the dramas were too passionate to fully vanish and were still
reaching out for some sort of consummation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When I arrived back
in the country, my son picked me up at Union Station in D.C..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>I made it only as far as his apartment in Harrisonburg,
where I slept for two days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>On the third
day, I stopped for supplies on the way home, picked up our dog, opened what
windows hadn’t been left open and plugged in the dehumidifier in the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>Then I called my parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“How did you like
Budapest?” my mother asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>“That’s one
place we didn’t really get to stay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My father on the
other phone added, “We were there for one night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Who doesn’t love
Budapest? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I relayed with
excitement the vitality of the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>It
was my second visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“We stayed between
Buda and Pest,” grumbled my father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“On Margaret
Island?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“No. On the
Danube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>In a floating jail.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The telephone
connection was going in and out and I wasn’t sure that’s what he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Why were you in
jail?” I asked tentatively.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Because I turned
off the car,” answered my mother bitterly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My father backed up
a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>“It was night and we were
walking outside lost, so they picked us up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> 
</span>You see, it was still behind the Iron Curtain then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I had been to the
Soviet Bloc while it was still under Communist rule and pictured the stealthy
black KGB jalopies sliding silently down snow-covered roads, the only vehicles
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>My parents would have been the only
people outside late at night as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>Wearing
a long black wool coat with a fur-lined collar and a large fur hat, a large
gruff man would have opened the door and pointing a gloved finger inside, demanded
that they get in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“So we were just
sitting there and I had read that they just sit out all night in those cars and
after awhile they turn the engine off to not waste fuel, so I leaned over the
seat to turn the key and that’s when they arrested us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“That’s not why,”
retorted my father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>“It’s because you
got in the fight at the airport.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I thought it was
only recently that she was kicked off an airplane for fighting with
someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Before they got
really engrossed into an angry debate of what was evidently a long term point
of contention, I wanted to ask about the moment she decided she should turn off
the ignition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Well, don’t you
think that was rather audacious to turn the key?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“I don’t know why I
did it,” she answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“That’s not why they
arrested us,” my father insisted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>“It’s
because of the girl at the airport.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Well they had no
right to treat her that way!” shouted my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>“They were dragging her and she was an
American.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“She was a spy,”
answered my father disgustedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“I don’t care if she
was or she wasn’t! No one should be treated that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I interrupted my
father’s rebuttal,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>“Well, if you get a
chance, you should go back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>

<br />
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<br /></div>

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Fall and Budapest

It was Fall when I returned from Lockn. Odd, that only the preceding day and 45 miles away, it was blazing hot and summer was in full swi...

The Lockn Festival in Ol' Virginny

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So good to be home in the Virginia hills.  I didn't realize how much I missed it until I inhaled the fresh pine scent.<br />
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Nor had I realized how deeply I had missed American music until I went to the Lockin Festival, a couple hills over.<br />
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On Sunday afternoon, the fourth day of the festival, a handsome young man held his hand out formally in a gesture inviting me to dance.  He was smiling, and said shyly, but happily, "I have been waiting three days for this." <br />
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I felt awkward, not being very good at dancing with a partner or keeping a predictable beat or having any mastery of common ballroom dancing moves, but I couldn't turn him down.<br />
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Willie Nelson played us a very long, romantic song, lovely enough to seduce and hush the crowd of thousands.<br />
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A tall man with the aura of The Dude came up to us as we were parting hands and said softly, "I just have to tell you. We've all been watching you and it was so beautiful that we are all in tears."<br />
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Nothing like the love and music at a festival.<br />
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Willie, Stringcheese Incident, Widespread Panic, Steve Winwood, Tom Petty, Phil Lesh, Wilco, Keller Williams, Tedeschi/Trucks, Soja, Grace Potter...the list goes on.  It was just ridiculous.</div>
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The Lockn Festival in Ol' Virginny

So good to be home in the Virginia hills. I didn't realize how much I missed it until I inhaled the fresh pine scent. Nor...

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Indian Summer

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Harrisonburg's International Festival

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Country Life & Paper Mills

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Richmond, Virginia

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Fall and Budapest

The Lockn Festival in Ol' Virginny

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