Saturday Night Frock Coat

Here's a flashback from nearly a decade ago. It's a Saturday night in June 2009, at the historic Kenilworth school in Phoenix. It has to be at least 80 degrees outside. And I'm driving up from Tucson for a contredance in my late 1700's powder-blue coat and white weskit and breeches, with the stockings. Where on Earth did I get all this energy from, and where the heck did it all go?

A mix of your servant's favourite music
and moves, set to stories and observations.

Once upon a time in my dancing history, I felt like a colonial Tony Manero, consistently getting that Saturday Night Fever to go boogie in that tricorn and breeches, even if that meant a 90-minute drive sometimes. I had it bad. I gather that was because I got so much joy out of it at the time when so many other things in my life didn't seem to be bringing much in the door. By this time, I had gotten right with GOD, so that wasn't the problem.

Fast forward ten years later, and I've mellowed out a lot in that respect, finding other curiosities -- and other dance groups to wet my whistle. And I gather my internal chemicals have shifted a bit. That's what happens when you've been around for 247 years!