Steven (unzeugmatic) wrote,

The Fattest Braggart

In the long run it could be a problem that my Morris team has not done too well at recruiting new members for the last couple of years. Once a Braggart always a Braggart, of course, so our collective spirit only strengthens each year, but here on this earthly plane where we actually have to get out and dance the inevitable gradual membership attrition requires the influx of new energy and younger knees to keep the team vital. So far we seem to be full strength, however, with just about the best group of musicians you could wish for. Still, Andy was off in Nicaragua when last heard from ("Life on the finca has been good") and I'm already grieving greatly at the prospect of Russ and his wife leaving for a Peace Corps sojourn in Africa come June.

There is an up side to a steady membership, though, which is that we have all been dancing together as the group we currently are for a few years now. There is a happy comfort in this, and a stylistic unity that has to be felt rather than learned. It's been a season of many fun practices. One night we danced only stick dances, one night we danced only hanky dances, one night we drilled for style in front of a mirror, and last night we focused on dances that are new (or recently revived). Fore Michael is worried that we have expanded our active repertoire to more than we can carry in our heads, and he may be right. We barely remembered our former Mayday show dance last night.

In general, though, Tuesday nights are good happy times, the sort of respite from our weeks that some of us crave.

At last night's practice there were three children and two non-musician member wives and an observer from an undergraduate ethnology class who has been interviewing Michael once a week all season. I had brought a pile of old comic books (purchased cheaply on eBay) for Anna, who sat to the side with her week's allotment, and small children Daniel and Miranda held hankies and danced on a stage while we worked through our repertoire. A dozen of us went out afterwards for pizza, which is more than usual. To an observer it might have looked chaotic, but it was the happy buzz of a termite hill.

My foot is still sore from last week's injury, although I could dance a lot more this week. During the pithy-statement session at Pizza Luce I noted that I vastly prefer a sore foot to existential angst, which I meant to be a statement about Morris dance. The other pithy statements, proffered by many, were mostly sexually suggestive.

Two more practices before Mayday and two more years before our team's planned trip to the Cotswolds.
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