Pittsburgh: The Dance (in moments)

On Friday night, Sara took me to the James Street Gastropub and Speakeasy for a dance. We were both excited, she because of the band, the super amazing awesome Boilermaker Jazz Band, and I because I was dancing in a new scene and that's always exciting. The evening lived up to every single expectation I had for it and then some. I was so happy I don't even remember a coherent order of events, so here's the evening as I remember it. In moments.

I'm out of breath as the first song ends. Jared leads me into a low dip and I laugh.

"Wow, that was awesome, let's do it again!" "Right now?" "Sure, why not!" And we dance another because its just that awesome.

Balboa shuffling across the floor.

Recognizing the dull, somewhat dingy whiteness of a well-loved pair of Aris Allens from across the room and knowing I'm in for a treat when the lead they belong to leads me onto the floor.

Pushing it and crossing over, because that's what Frankie would've done.

Kelvin kick-ball-changing in that oh so L.A. style and leading me into a swing out that, if people still did, could be called "California" rather than "Savoy."

In a rare moment of not dancing, I'm impressed at Johnny out-Tolkiening me with his language skillz (sic) rather than his dance ones.

Leading a newbie and hearing "You know, I think I get this now. Do you teach this?"

Realizing how fast the floor is after nearly losing it on more than one occasion.

The first hot note of the Boilermakers.

Nearly, but not actually dying dancing with Jared to "Rugcutter."

BALBOA BALBOA BALBOA. Ralph is smooth as silk the second time around and I relax into lollies and come-arounds.

Closing my eyes, thinking and then saying, "was that a triple basic? Dayum, this boy is good." And then him laughingly telling me that he had actually just messed up. Coulda fooled me.

Wishing I had brought my heels, even though I'm an amazon in them, because I would love to be digging in for some sweet Bal styling.

The smooth as butter cream swing out with John Paul (at least I think that was his name...who knows at a lindy dance?)

Funky blues dancing with John (John? I think so), even though my sexy blues face is basically a grin and I can't stop looking at my feet (eye contact during a blues dance is a dangerous thing).

Twisting my skirt back around after so many toss-outs.

Switching lead and follow with a funny kid in a red shirt...gorgeous follow, but a more improvisational lead than me. After a while, he is firmly in the driver's seat because dang, he's fun to follow.

Remembering scissor kicks and breaking them out whenever I think of it.

Asking the band for "Smooth Sailing" but sad when the Boilermakers don't know it. Oh well, the next song is just as good.

Putting my hair back up for the fiftieth time because I'm dancing so hard.

The thrill of meeting new dancers on a gorgeous (fast) floor with amazing music.

Thanks, Pittsburgh dancers! I had an amazing time and I hope I get to dance with you all again sooner rather than later!

Oh, Fickle Muse!

I meant to be writing about a dance in Pittsburgh. I will get to that, I swear, but this is what happens when you sit on the patio at Raging Sage in lovely weather.

The small patio at Raging Sage is full today. The burble of voices mixes around me and orange blossoms cover us all with sweet smells. Can you blame us all for taking this beautiful morning out in the Arizona sun? This is the land of Never-Winter, where Summer is never ever far way. While the rest of the country shivers in the dark and in the cold, we bask in warmth, and house finches and mockingbirds sing, adding their voices to our shared happiness.

Soon, of course, we won't be joyous. Sooner than we want or expect, Never-Winter will end and Summer will return, almost certainly with force. After all, he has only barely been held back this year. Even as I soak in the warmth of spring sun, I can feel him. I can feel him scaring away our deep freezes and drying out our soft winter rains. He is nudging us toward what I think will be a dictatorial season of stifling heat. There are joys there too, but they're fleeting and few: the blast of heat after spending too much time air-conditioned, the first sip of icy beverage in 100+ degrees. But too quickly Summer dries out those small joys. Or forces them out of you through your pores in sweat that evaporates so quickly you don't know it existed.

So I will enjoy this beautiful spring morning all the more knowing (though maybe not admitting to myself) that it is fleeting and will too soon be trampled under the heel of cruel Summer.

Pittsburgh: Impressions*

*There will be quite a few Pittsburgh posts in the next few days, and about more specific events. Like the so awesome swing dance. And the amazing random Mexican food restaurant we found and the great company that we went there with. And the joy of having good friends. 

The absolute first thing I noticed about Pittsburgh was its bridges. How could one not? Downtown Pittsburgh takes up a hilly wedge of earth bounded on the north by the Alleghany River and on the south by the Monongahela River. They meet at a point to become the Ohio River and that's where Pittsburgh started, so of course there are dozens of bridges. As a desert kid, even though I grew up on a river, I've never associated bridges with water. Mostly just with dirt. So imagine my delight, as Sara drove us through a hillside tunnel into the city, when the sparkling lights of dozens of bridges appeared, reflecting in a golden shimmer on all that water.

The second thing I noticed was not the cold weather or the bluff hills, but the runners. Let me preface this by saying that during my stay, Pittsburgh was enjoying a spat of warm (ish) weather. The highs were in the 50s, still pretty damn cold to my thin Tucson blood, but apparently, a welcome respite from the below-freezing temperatures the Yinzers had been experiencing. Our first morning, I bundled up in my fleece, my (borrowed) down parka, and topped the whole thing off with a rain shell to keep out the wind. It became clear after only a few moments that I was monumentally overdressed. Not for myself. I was toasty and warm in my layers, but not too warm, as the breeze was brisk enough to keep my cheeks cool. Perfect. But apparently not to the acclimatized runners of the 'Spurgh. The first couple of runners seemed underdressed to me, but not to a wholly unreasonable degree. Running tights, hats, big fluffy socks. And, you know, they were running after all. But after I saw not one, but quite a few of them jogging nonchalantly down the icy streets in shorts and t-shirts, with nary a thought to the cold wind smacking at my ears, well, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. Cold is weird. So are people who run in it. 

My other impressions of Pittsburgh were fleeting, but I loved all the brick buildings and the (neo?) gothic Presbyterian churches everywhere. The roads were winding and there were little shops everywhere, mostly because I don't think there was room for the sprawling shopping centers I'm more familiar with out west. We traipsed around Lawrenceville, The Strip, Shadyside, the Southside, Oakland, and just sort of soaked in the city. Saturday, my last full day in town, we saw all of it laid out in front of us from Mt. Washington. When walking wasn't really an option (seriously, the wind was killer), we'd hop on the bus and watch the city go by, alongside the regular (non-tourist) folks.

Those folks were all friendly and welcoming and seemed genuinely interested in starting a conversation. Mostly they talked about Pittsburgh and with so much enthusiasm that you couldn't help but feel that way too.  I never really felt like a tourist, except for my insistence on wearing my puffy parky everywhere. And that was really cool. Well done, Pittsburgh, well done.