Today's subject line comes from "Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning, a hymn we mummers sang during our play (as we revived both St. George and the dragon), with the audience automatically joining in. Then, about an hour later, four of the Ritchie sisters sang it during parlor, again with the rest of the room harmonizing in on the chorus.

A funny thing is, picking it up by ear, I kept hearing the line as "the horizon adoring..."

As expected, New Year's Eve ended up being a long, full, fun day, and staying in the night before was definitely the right move (I didn't turn off the lamp all that early, but it was still sooner than I would've had I put my dancing shoes back on. As it was, I caught up on some magazines and made/wrote some cards and drifted off right before midnight.) Breakfast was rushed and late Wednesday morning -- the power had gone out during the night, so the innkeeper was scrambling (so to speak) to get the spinach quiche ready on time, and as luck would have it, it wasn't cooperating on setting -- so when it finally did, I bolted it down and bolted to the studio, barely getting there on time.

The #5 dancer in my set didn't show up until 15 minutes later, which made things somewhat tense in spite of the willingness of one of the class observers to fill in, but once she showed up. We never did get through all the routines perfectly each time, but that class was definitely our best session -- we were really starting to click with each other, and to understand why things were or weren't working during our more problematic figures: for instance, during the jump figures (where I and the #2 dancer hop forward and back over the others' swords), the entire group ended up chanting "steppity-step" instead of leaving it to #1, which really helped the group as a whole lock into the timing of when the swords needed to go up and down.

There were also little things that amused me, such as #4 (Samuel Hokanson)'s somewhat obsessive preference for squeaky swords, and Al White (the fiddler) suddenly playing the melody of The Bunny Hop as the class practiced jumping forwards and backwards in set formation.

The two last dances taught during my 10:15 class (Beginning English Country Dancing) were "Female Saylor" and "Sellinger's Round." The instructor (Katy Tarter German) opened the class with reflections on the stages of dancing that she'd heard from Brad Foster (another instructor): "phase 1" dancers (beginners) tend to be focused primarily on the mechanics, and once they're comfortable with that, they become "phase 2" dancers who become intent on extracting all the joy they possibly can out of the dancing experience... which is fine, but then there's yet another level, "phase 3," where a dancer discovers how there's even more joy to be had from making things fun for others (as opposed to focusing just on their own pleasure). Part of Katy's point was that some phase 2 dancers are less than tolerant of phase 1 participants (e.g., not at all interested in dancing with rank beginners), and she urged us phase 1 folks to recognize that it wasn't personal: "Just think to yourself, 'I'll see you when you're in phase 3..."

[There are several other realms I can think of where one can witness people going through similar stages, including church and fandom. I'm already planning a sermon with this...]

Anyway, I had a good, friendly partner throughout that class, and he waltzed with me at the end, too. Then I ran some errands on Glades Road (the furthest north I went this trip), grabbed lunch at China Chef, and went back to the b&b to shower and change into a fresh shirt and jeans.

The afternoon consisted of the dress rehearsal for the mummers' play, another stretch of shape-note singing, and then "the Morris Tour," which consisted of short performances by some of the classes, including the cloggers, the Morris dancers, several kids' groups, and the rapper sword dancers. My set acquitted itself nicely -- we had to break back to guard once when either a turn or a flip went wrong and the swords got too tangled up to unknot in formation, but we didn't drop any of the swords and I didn't fall flat on my face during the jump figures. The advanced rapper class was great fun to watch and hear as well -- their footwork was much more solid, and working on both my jig-step and endurance is something I can do on my own. (There were several dancers who attended both the Beginning and Advanced classes, and I think that's what I'd like to do next time -- which is unlikely to be for several years, since my partner isn't into this stuff and I don't want to spend every NYE apart from him.)

After the demo, I stopped in College Square for dinner and coffee and then headed back to the B&B for yet another shower, and to change into my long green gown. (Note to self: need to pack many more changes of clothing next time. Even my hair scrunchies got soaked with sweat after a half-hour of stepping.) The dance started out with the stage packed with around two dozen musicians, and I ended up snapping photos on behalf of one of the fiddlers. Then I danced several of the contras and other dances (including a complex square that involved passing through three sets at a time), and then it was time for the mummers' play. St. George getting slain by a shoe thrown by The Fool was a hit (so to speak). Then there was parlor (where the shape-note choir performed "Northfield" -- first singing the shapes, then the printed words, and finally with the words to "Joy to the World"). Then everyone returned to the dance floor and welcomed in the New Year with "Sellinger's Round."

And then there was another hour of dancing, including a long, wild Irish set called by Owen Morrison that involved something like ten rounds of polka. It was terrific, espcially since I was paired with another Nashville dancer who is a very good lead. Then I slid out of the room so I could be on the phone with the Beautiful Young Man as midnight approached in his time zone.

There was an after-dance after that, but I wasn't sure of the locale and I was pretty tired anyway, so I went back to the b&b at last. Thursday morning dawned freezing but sunny; breakfast included a long, interesting conversation about politics and culture (the innkeeper was a leader of the Obama campaign in Madison County, and the other guests were an Arkansas couple (a retired economics professor -- originally from New York -- and a genealogist/home economist -- originally from Western Illinois) who had been the lone Obama supporters in their neighborhood, so there was some unexpected bonding over our collective hopes and fears.

The drive home went well, and I spent part of the afternoon over with the BYM and another couple at their house, drinking Paris tea and just chatting. I haven't done much since then, thanks to Tuesday's sore throat worsening into an all-out head cold with much ookiness. (I'm a bit vexed with my immune system letting me down yet again -- especially after a week of making a point of eating well and washing my hands frequently (and there were huge bottles of hand sanitizer everywhere at Christmas School, too) -- but, there being no help for it, I'm going to go back to bed and sleep for another twelve hours (and give thanks that my work/commitments mean I can do just that without any real penalty).)

... but, three more notes. The first is that I've heard a lot of talk over the past week about resolutions - some cynical, some hopeful. That may end up as a more extended rumination some other time, but for now, I'll simply point you toward Lori-Lyn's thoughts on choosing a Word for the year (an approach advocated by Christine Kane). I'm trying this myself (my word is fit -- and I might explore or explain the layers of that here some other time, but for now, I'll merely note that the layers include physical, environmental (stuff vs. space), logistical (e.g., time management), and creative (e.g., which projects deserve to be prioritized). One little word -- and look how complicated I can make it within seconds. *gleam*

The second (again to be explored more in-depth some other time) is the dance concept of "giving weight" -- i.e., to be a good partner, you have to provide enough substance /resistance for other dancer to move with and around. I have thoughts related to feminism and collaborations and other isms/ions this concept can apply to ... and the challenge of assessing what the right amount of weight is when one's partner isn't an experienced or confident dancer (and when one isn't experienced or confident enough oneself to gauge how much weight to supply). (Put another way, I often make a point of being extra-easy to move around and light on my feet so that I am easy to steer and don't come across as trying to lead -- which is not helpful but actually frustrating to strong dancers who do know what they're doing, so then I end up overcompensating in the other direction, and then back again, and there's probably a poem or sermon to be had from that as well.)

The third is that "Make Channels for the Streams of Love" has been running through my head all week. It's sung to "Land of Rest" in UU churches (#299 in SLT). It wasn't sung at Christmas school, but I am not sure if my subconscious isn't being unsubtle about how I sometimes fear I take people too much for granted by not being outgoing enough (which is more than balanced by the times I resent being taken for granted, and the ever-ongoing battle between my need for alone-time vs. the fact that friendships need time and attention to flourish).

But it could also be my mind simply hooking a pretty tune out of its recesses to balance out the bouncier "Tomorrow shall be my dancing day" that's been earworming me as well. There are worse verses to take to bed. ;-)