In the last twenty-five years, my dancing has been limited to rocking my babies to sleep and the occasional untoward burst of enthusiasm during a house-cleaning binge (Rockin’ Robin is my song du jour for those moments).
Until January 20, 2012.
On that fateful Friday evening, I was out and about with a friend. We stopped by The Buffalo Club – a lovely little country/western bar in Boise (more about the BC in a moment).
A range of interesting characters kindly gave me the chance to try out
the old moves . . . several versions of west coast swing (I’m guessin’ we could name them, but I’m not sure they could be replicated), two-steps, and even a waltz.
I discovered my moves were indeed ‘old’. But the setting. The floor vibrated with each stomped turn of ‘Copperhead Road’, and hummed with the light, fast footwork of a country two-step. The scratchy old sound system couldn’t drown out the laughter or shouts of encouragement at a particularly athletic maneuver. Faded wisps of men’s cologne, slapped on hours before, chased the lingering remains of decades of smoke, now banned (cheers for the city council). Let me just say it sparked treasured memories of giddy flirtations, stolen kisses and lost loves.
I won’t stop.
So, I’m taking lessons, free for now, but if I’m gonna ‘kick it up a notch’ (pun intended), I may have to spring for a private lesson. Apparently, according to a charming 5000-year-old gentleman sporting an impressive snowy handlebar, I have ‘your dang, pardon my french, leading issues’ like all the other ‘young girls today’.
So what if it strikes at the core of my feminist heart . . . I’m all atwitter at being a ‘young girl’. Still – I suppose from his vantage – nah, I’m still gonna own it.
We have Idaho Swing Dancers, the Idaho Country Western Dance Association affiliated with national National Fast Dance Association, the Treasure Valley Country Western Dance Association and a myriad of private instructors, Irish steppers, and ballroom aficionados. For now, I’m at the Buffalo Club every Tuesday and Thursday evening from 7:30 to 8:30p following every word of the very patient instructors. This is a safe time . . . several hours before the cops show up.
I had no idea how extensive this community was. I’ve met so many kind and friendly people (except for the horsey diva with the big hair and fake boobs who stared me down the other day), picked up a whole variety of new words and phrases for dialogue. I can’t share the dialogue in this forum, but ya gotta love a cowboy.
Sexiest. Men. Alive.
Trust me on this. And, blessed geography means most live in Idaho, Oregon and Wyoming, only a few have horses – er, I mean girlfriends – several are Josh Turner clones, and best of all ….