A year ago, if you had said that come October 2011 I’d be residing in Santa Fe, I would have said, “Hmm. It’s possible, but not likely. Maybe someday…”
Yet now here we are, comfortably, happily settled in the Land of Enchantment.
Not an actual photo of your humble narrator on the dance floor; perhaps one will follow in the future.
But if you had said a year ago that I would attend a country-western dance, complete with banjo-pickin’, mandolin-strummin’ musicians and a roomful of couples breezily two-stepping around the floor, and that I would be in one of those couples….well, that would have brought a few chuckles.
Me, dance, to country-western music? Willingly, with no threat of extracting finger nails or slaughtering of loved ones? Not a very likely scenario, that. But then, relationships can lead us to strange places. And this past Saturday, it led me to the town of El Rancho, not far north of Santa Fe, and to an old roadhouse converted into a dance hall/private residence (yes, a seemingly odd combo, but the owner is a skilled carpenter who has made it work beautifully).
My new Santa Fe friend is a devoted dancer; I knew this from our first meeting. I am not, and she knew likewise. Yet her passion for country-western dancing, and my desire to share her passions as much as I can, led me to the dance hall. She gave a few quick lessons beforehand which, sadly, did not translate into instant smooth moves on my part. But the effort was there, and even with my stumbling and bumbling she saw some potential. I mean, I do have a pretty good ear for music and sense of rhythm, even if I haven’t always shown it in public. With practice, I reckon, I will be an OK dancer, though she, so much more accomplished, will seek out partners with comparable skills. And that’s cool. I enjoyed seeing her glide across the floor with guys who move so fluidly, the smile across her face lighting up whatever corner of the room she occupied. Yes, she should have that happiness; my ineptitude should be no barrier to that.
I tried maybe five or six dances, surely more than I’ve attempted during the previous ten years. I didn’t wear flashing lights or a warning sign to tell the other dancers to give me space; my rookie status was readily apparent as I fumbled to find the beat and move my feet in some semblance of coordination. Country dancing out west is strictly couples; no line dancing here, as in the pseudo-country-western dancing events back east. They waltz, they two-step, they polka, they swing, and most do it effortlessly, with a collective skill I’ve never seen before on a dance floor. The dancers included a professional, at least one competitive dancer, and a real, live cowboy who’s something of a local legend in these parts. And two women not my partner, but friends of hers, offered themselves up as sacrificial lambs, willing to take a turn with me on the floor despite my rawness. I spared them the knocked knees and generally graceless motion that would have entailed.
The emphasis for the evening was truly on dancing, with little eating or drinking in between numbers; some couples even stayed on the floor to swirl and twirl to the recorded music that played while the band took a break. And what a band: the Rifters, a three-piece ensemble of highly talented musicians (at least one used to tour with Loretta Lynn, I was told) mixed original tunes with covers that ranged from Johnny Cash to Bob Marley, from true country to western swing.
Just listening to the music was entertainment enough, but the kinetic energy of the dancing couples really sucked me in. I watched the men’s feet, to try to see what I should be doing. Yeah, like I could ever imitate that. I watched the women, dressed in skirts and jeans and assorted Western garb, moving so sweetly in synch with their partners. I took it all in, and actually imagined myself out there in weeks to come, slowly, slowly moving effortlessly myself to the music. Or maybe not so effortlessly. But at least moving in ways I never would have imagined before.
This trek west was about change, of course. But also about growth. I hope there is spiritual growth, and growth in my career. I guess my dancing adventures will be cultural growth. Something I never would have imagined myself doing—and enjoying. And that will make this one very cool experience.
