I’m getting tired of playing dish drainer Jenga. This was the fourth game I played yesterday. This round wasn’t nearly as impressive as some of the earlier ones I built.

I had some fleeting hope that the high-end, local appliance store we bought our dishwasher from was not as bad as I thought when the repair guys showed up last Thursday and discovered the hose that mice chewed through. 

They said if they didn’t have one in stock, they would order it. They also said it should come in fast, like a day or two at the most. That was last Thursday. After doing shitloads of dishes this past weekend, Marty called the store yesterday, Tuesday, to see if the part came in so he could pick it up and install it himself. 

A not-so-nice, ok downright mean, annoyed AF person answered the phone and growled out, “The part’s been ordered!!!” It’s clear this store doesn’t give two shits about us or our dishwasher. A holiday weekend is approaching, and since they only work bankers hours Mon-Friday 9-5, I know that I will be doing a lot more dishes for at least another week.

Marty tried to find the part himself online but could only buy it with the expensive pump included, which we don’t need. Rarely, Marty can’t find something he’s looking for online.

I shout the praises of small, local businesses all the time being one ourselves, but this place gives small businesses a bad name. This is the reason why people prefer to shop at big box stores. I totally get it.

My patience is wearing thin as we are at the mercy of this local, high-end appliance store that has us by the balls. I’ll repeat it…if I knew when we purchased our pricey dishwasher from them and would receive this type of service or none service, should I say, I never would have done it. Bastards!

I haven’t written for a couple of days; we had company for the weekend. Our first house guest since the pandemic. How wonderful to be able to see and entertain people again.

I prepped a lot of my food ahead, so I didn’t have to take up that time; all I had to do was actual cooking. On Saturday night, I made baked stuffed clams, creamy Tuscan shrimp, Caesar salad with homemade croutons, and mini tiramisu for dessert.

Yesterday morning we went to the last day of an estate sale. Marty stopped there on Friday afternoon on his way back from making a delivery in Manchester. He said it was a weird estate sale. The people who lived in this gorgeous, huge house lived there the day before, packed suitcases and left everything behind. Weird, sad and confusing.

We tried to put together who the family was just by looking at their things, and when I mean things, I mean ALL of their things. Clothing in closets & dressers. Toys, games, electronics, everything in the kitchen, garage, basement, soap, and shampoo still in all the bathrooms. So fucking weird!

We knew the family was Jewish since they had a seder platter and a ceramic dish with Hebrew writing. The mother was tiny, a size 0. She had blonde hair because she had shampoo for blondes in the master bath. Their last name started with a W since we saw it monogrammed on a few items.

They had at least 4 children, 2 boys, and 2 girls. Their rooms were exactly how they woke up the morning before. I can’t imagine teenage girls leaving behind EVERYTHING. The boys’ rooms were filled with trophies, yearbooks, Star Wars collectibles. There were stuffed animals, dolls, and more legos than toy stores had in their inventory. One boy was into science and had microscopes, telegraphs, and books galore. The other one seemed to love sports.

The family definitely were skiers, snowboarders, and outdoorsy. We know where they went to elementary school, high school, and someone had lots of Penn State sweatshirts and t-shirts. They had a gym, an entertainment area, and an arcade in the basement. The maid’s room was the only room with no belongings, except for a flat-screen tv and a bed. She had to have advanced notice and packed up her shit before she left. Marty bought the maid’s tv on Friday.

The kitchen was gorgeous! How I would have loved to cook and entertain in there. From the looks of the kitchen and cookware, they didn’t cook much. I can tell stuff like that, spending so much time in kitchens.

As we walked around, I kept trying to make sense of how a family could walk away and leave everything they owned behind. I kept shaking my head and was bewildered. I felt sad because what if they left in a hurry and why?

As other people walked around this family’s home all weekend, I am certain that they felt the same way that we did.

We ended up buying some blankets, small kitchen wares, and a Yoda robe Marty couldn’t leave behind.

After we got home, I started making Sunday dinner. Again, I prepped everything ahead, so I didn’t have too much to do. I made jerk pork tenderloins with tropical salsa and sweet potato, and regular fries. I planned on making everything in the outdoor kitchen, but the rain delayed that plan a bit.

We had Noah and his friend Zach and Sam since he got home from college Friday night. With our guest that made six people for dinner!

The meal took a little longer than I planned because we waited until the rain stopped to fry the potatoes outside. Rain + hot fry oil = a trip to the burn center, and that we didn’t want. LOL.

I made four pork tenderloins and thought, wow, that’s a lot of pork, but we can always have leftovers. There were no leftovers! I can’t tell you the joy a cook feels when making a meal that people really enjoy and keep going back for seconds and thirds. ☺️

Over dinner, we talked about the estate sale and found out that Noah and Zach were there when the sale opened that morning. They saw the same things we did and were kicking themselves for a couple of things they didn’t purchase, like a free piano and a real arcade game that was under $50 bucks. We also discussed what everyone thought happened to the family. That’s how weird the situation was to be a Sunday dinner topic.

While we were contemplating what happened, Sam, who was the only one who didn’t go to the estate sale, asked why we didn’t look at the names on the trophies. Leave it to Sam to think of that brilliant idea! None of us did, of course.

The empath in me keeps hoping that it was a good situation why they left the way they did, but sadly we all could come up with more bad situations, like an original series on Netflix.

After Sunday dinner, we finished up the weekend heading over to our friend Martin’s place across the street and had some cocktails, wine, and a million laughs.

The weekend with family and friends felt normal again. It was the first time our family of four had broken bread together since Christmas dinner. Everyone was relaxed and enjoyed each other’s company after such a fucked up year of fear and isolation.

I’ve written about hope before; the pandemic, warm weather, and normalcy, but now everything was finally real! Thank goodness!

I love summer and look forward to it all year. Life is easier in the summer. Getting dressed is a snap; I throw on a sundress and twist my long, thick hair into a bun. I grab a pair of sandals or flip-flops, and I am off. 

For work, it’s athletic shorts and a tank top with crocks. It’s so nice not having to bundle up, putting on boots and a winter coat to go 38 steps to the production kitchen. 

Let’s talk about not having to worry about falling on your ass or scraping ice from the windshield while warming up your vehicle. I need my arms and legs not broken, so this is a major plus. 

Otto and Klaus are like us; they love the warm weather. They stare longingly out the windows like we do during the winter and hate to go out to take care of their business. They dislike the below zero days; it makes their paws hurt; hobbling around after just a few minutes of playing ball, Klausie’s favorite thing to do in the world. Bummer.

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Our boys love to sunbathe on our paved driveway. I used to be able to walk for miles barefoot on the beach, boardwalk or streets no matter how hot it was. They are smart enough to seek out some shade or come inside when they get overheated. 

Life is easy; our meals are fresh and simple eaten outdoors. We enjoy happy hour on the front porch. I have to look at the clock in the winter and wish it was 5 pm, our happy hour time. In the summer, I look at the clock and go, “Shit! Happy hour is almost over” since we are so busy. I know it’s “five o clock somewhere,” but putting a time limit keeps me from day drinking; I can’t do that shit anymore without needing a nap. 

Watering my flowers and herbs at dusk is such a calming and zen-like ritual. I talk to them, tell them how pretty they are, and give them some encouragement and a nice drink of water. I deadhead my petunias every night and soon will have to start pinching back my basil as well. The smell of picking fresh basil to have with some beautifully ripe tomato slices and fresh mozzarella cheese screams summer to me. A little drizzle of olive oil and some salt & pepper can be a meal in itself. 

We go to bed later and get up earlier in the summer; we work more and harder than in the winter, but it doesn’t feel like it. Waking up to a sunrise instead of the dark does a lot for the mind and the soul.

I love running around the grass barefoot and not being cold. My favorite time of the day is between 4:30 and 6:30 pm. That’s when I like to get a little sun. I used to be able to “layout” all day, but I can’t do that anymore without a water source. I’ve always loved to layout on the cement around a pool. Rubbing baby oil on ourselves to get some “color” or while laying out on my friend’s rooftop with Sun In sprayed in our hair while smoking cigarettes is up there as a good summer memory. The brassy, ugly AF hair that took forever to grow out, not so much. 

When I was a kid, I never understood why older women said they couldn’t sit in the sun, it made them sick. Since the old menopause train pulled out of the station 7 years ago, I finally understand what they meant. 

I’m not going to lie; we do have air conditioning. When we started the spätzle business, I told Marty that after working in a steaming hot, literally from the 40-quart steam kettle in the production kitchen and working under a tent for hours mid-day at our farmer’s markets, I needed to have a place to cool off. This goes back to the ladies who said the sun made them sick, but too much heat does too. 

It’s an amazing feeling stepping into a cool house when we are dripping in sweat from working; I never had air conditioning like this before. We had an above-the-ground pool growing up, and I remember my dad coming home from work and jumping in. One time he was so hot from working in a machine shop all day that he ran in the yard and flipped himself over the side of the pool with his navy blue work clothes on. “Son of a bitch!” He screamed when he realized he had a pack of smokes in his shirt pocket. 🤣

There is nothing better than sipping hot fresh coffee on the front porch early in the morning and a cold gin and tonic with fresh lime in the evening. Sometimes I add a couple of dashes of bitters for an Ernest Hemingway gin & tonic. Lately, I’ve been enjoying a gorgeous, ice-cold glass of Rośe as well. 

Cooking outside is my favorite kind of kitchen to cook in. Marinating and smoking meats, grilling steaks, vegetables, and pizzas. It’s always fun to flip burgers or make home fries with pancakes & bacon on the flattop grill for Sunday breakfast.

We live a quarter of a mile from Camping on the Battenkill campground. It’s one of the best in Vermont, actually. We used to smell the campfires and be jealous since we love campfires. Last year we invested in the brand Solo fire-pit. It controls smoke from getting in your eyes and embers from flying everywhere. We had a campfire almost daily. Sitting around a fire on a clear, starry night, listening to music, sipping a little bourbon is just like camping. It’s better though because we can go inside and sleep in our own bed.

It’s almost 8:30 pm, and it’s not dark yet. It’s still in the mid-70s. The peepers are peeping high above in the trees. The crickets are chiming in along with some birds calling to each other. Cheep!!!! Every night I keep my eyes open to spot the first lightning bug. 

Right now, the dogs are sleeping and snoring away while we are relaxing on the front porch. It feels like being on vacation all the time. We all really do love the dog days of summer here in Vermont. 😎

I posted a couple of days ago about our dishwasher that gushed so much water that it went through the floorboards and into my washing machine below it in the basement.

We weren’t supposed to have a repair person come until the end of next week, but they were in Arlington and came this afternoon.  Good news! 

After some checking this and that, the problem was discovered. A mouse chewed a large hole in one of the hoses.  That little filthy bastard! Of course they didn’t have one of those particular hoses in the repair truck since it’s not a part that usually “goes.”

The part will have to be ordered; they asked if Marty can install it himself since they can’t come back for 10 more days. They showed him exactly what to do, and he’s handy like that.

In late fall, we noticed a lot of mice coming inside. Marty set traps and caught 10 within a few days of each other. It seemed like every time he stopped; we noticed the telltale evidence of more mice. 

Living in Vermont and not expecting to have mice is like living in NYC and not expecting to have roaches. It’s a part of life here, and you have to be proactive, especially in your home kitchen, or you can get very sick or worse. 

Listen, I hate the idea of getting rid of mice and feel bad about it, but it’s like dude…you have the whole fucking state, don’t shit all over my countertops, or have a buffet in my pantry. It’s unsanitary; you will get closed down by the board of health if you are a food business. Without a doubt! #truth

So the little bastards got the last laugh, it seems. Revenge for taking out their friends. Or did they? Obviously, the mice are still alive and well here in the Irion household, and that has to end. I say mice because there is no such thing as having a single mouse; there are always more. 

Now at least we know what the problem is and how to fix it. I am satisfied that the appliance store’s repair people squeezed us in on their route today. They were super nice guys, and we sent both of them home with a free package of spätzle to try since they both were curious about it. 

Marty is bound and determined to find the part himself and have my dishwasher repaired by tomorrow afternoon, especially since now he knows how to fix it. What about the part they order for us if we don’t need it? They said it will now be a stock item on the repair truck. 

Let’s see who gets the last laugh now.

Tuesday night, I turned on the dishwasher before I went to bed. It’s not even two years old. We purchased a better model this time, and it was on the pricey side. I cook a lot and have a lot of dishes; therefore, it made sense to get a good one. 

Marty got up early Wednesday morning, and when he walked into the kitchen, the rug runner was soaking wet. After further investigation, the water seeped between the floorboards and dripped onto the washer and dryer in the basement below. The 1832 floorboards were so soaked that they are still swollen and buckled. They will shrink back, but there is a hump on the floor in front of the sink for now.

Marty was at the sink filled with dirty dishes when I got up, and the rug runner was out on the deck drying. Of course, I knew what was wrong. We think that a hose may have burst or came loose. We bought the dishwasher from a small, local, high-end appliances store. Normally, Marty would have tackled the problem himself, but we expect their repairman to come to fix it for the money we spent. 

Marty left a message on the store’s answering machine. The message said they would return our call the same workday. My ass! That was Wednesday; they didn’t call back that day or Thursday and Friday. Seriously, when we support a  small local business, I want and expect to be treated better than a big box store, not completely ignored. 

Marty called again yesterday after production. They answered but immediately said they would have to call us back and not expect anyone for at least 3 weeks. They called back later and said it would be the end of next week. So that’s two and a half weeks of waiting after our initial call leaving a detailed message. They knew about the problem and chose to ignore it. Thank God it isn’t a washing machine we are talking about!

I believe in supporting small businesses 100%, especially since we are one ourselves. We try to give everyone, wholesale and farmers market customers, the best customer service we possibly can. We change game plans if necessary to fill customers’ orders or have to make an emergency delivery. We appreciate our customers and want to take care of them.

Waiting for a call back for 3 days never came, and such a long wait time for a repair is not acceptable. I do at least 2+ hours of dishes by hand in the production kitchen every day. Do I feel like doing lots of dishes by hand in the house? Um, no.

I know everyone is looking for help these days, but that’s not an excuse. If you can take our money, then you should be able to provide customer service. The store is only open from 9 -5 Monday-Friday, leaving a small window of opportunity for phone calls, sales, service, or repairs. Those are bankers’ hours. Even if they couldn’t schedule the repair for 3 weeks but called us back right away, I’d probably be ok with the situation. 

Am I sorry I shopped at this local “high-end” appliance store? You bet your ass I am. We never had an issue with Lowe’s calling us back when we had a refrigerator problem that we purchased from them. The attitude today is…”Oh well, it is what it is or sorry.” Everything is good enough for people, well it isn’t for us. It’s another word for a cop-out. 

We have a house guest coming for the weekend, and I am not changing my menus or eating on paper plates because of a broken dishwasher. I hate that instead of enjoying my company, I’ll be in the kitchen washing dishes. 😣

I still believe in shopping locally and supporting small businesses; next time, we will do our homework and ask around before making a big purchase.

The expression “Watching the grass grow” means to be dull or boring. We’ve been watching our grass grow for exactly one year, and it’s pretty damn exciting! 

We built a packing room addition to the production kitchen in the fall of 2019. Needless to say, the ground needed to be dug up, and the machinery chewed up our lawn. The retention wall build for the addition was rinky-dink and needed to be redone. 

We spent the winter and early spring of 2020 looking out our windows, especially during the lockdown. What we saw made me disgusted, anxious, and embarrassed at how bad our property looked. 

When landscape workers could go back to work, they had spring clean-up to do and didn’t want anything to do with our retaining wall and lawn job. We couldn’t get anyone to call us back or even give us a bid. 

So the hell with it, we did it ourselves and saved a load of money. Marty, of course, engineered and planned out everything that had to be done. I was the worker, the schlepper, gopher, and clean-up person. Even though I hate gardening, I never complained once while we bit the bullet and got the work done. 

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We rebuilt the retaining wall reusing materials Marty had. We got it done in just a few hours, and it came out good. This put some wind in our sails for the lawn project.

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Next, we had to get rid of stones and rocks then level everything out. We got a few yards of topsoil that had to be transported and spread evenly. Next came seeding, putting hay on top, and watering it. 

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It was back-breaking work, and I was so annoyed we had to do it ourselves since we budgeted money to hire someone, but in the end, I’m glad at how much money we saved. 

We had a gorgeous sunny, hot, dry summer that was glorious for us, but not for the grass we were trying to grow. It came in a little at a time but was patchy, and rocks kept pushing themselves back up to the surface. We stopped watering after the first month; we didn’t want to waste the water since it was so dry. 

By fall, we accepted the grass for what it was and knew it was a lot better than it was the year before. It’s wasn’t even real grass yet, let alone a lawn.  

After the snow melted in late winter and early spring, Marty got after it again. He fertilized and seeded. Then he repeated it a month later. Then he did it one more time. Last week he used some bare spot grass seed with mulch premixed in. 

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Mowing the lawn is now serious business. It has to be the right height so it can come in nice and thick. Not too high or too low to burn up. It’s really a science, and that why landscaping is big bucks.

Guess what? We have a lawn! Finally! I know many people don’t give a rat’s ass about the condition of their lawn, but we do. It’s our home and business, and we want it to look taken care of. We love walking barefoot on the lawn, and the dogs love lounging in it on a hot day. 

I’ve always admired a nice lawn and can now really appreciate what goes into achieving one. We spent one whole year watching and waiting for the grass to grow; now, it seems like Marty had to cut the lawn every other day. I can see while he is mowing that he is proud of his lawn, and it’s not just another pain in the ass thing to do around the house anymore. ☺️

Yesterday, I began talking to a customer, and as I started my “spätzle spiel,” she told me she was a gluten-free baker and, like me, developed her own flour blends because the ones available didn’t work for her either. 

I asked her where her bakery was located, and she replied, “Wolfeboro, NH.” Marty, who wasn’t paying attention to our conversation, looked up suddenly and said, “I have family in Wolfeboro. His name is Vlado.” Wolfeboro is not a very big place, so when she questioned, “Vlado? My Vlado?” The whole reunion started to unfold quickly. 

Marty’s family came to America when he was very young; his father took a job transfer with his company Siemens. His office was in the Empire State Building, and the family moved to Queens, NY. 

Marty’s dad, Hans, had a cousin Liesel who lived in Brooklyn, NY, with her husband, Darko. Liesel and Darko helped sponsor family members who wanted to move to America just like Eva and her two little boys Milan & Vlado.

Since all of Marty’s immediate family was in Germany, they spent their holiday celebrations with Liesel, Darko, Eva, Milan & Vlado. The Irion’s relocated from Queens to Edison, NJ, when Siemens opened a new office in Metro Park, but still did the holiday thing with them taking turns between Brooklyn & Edison.

People grow up, move away, start their own lives and families. We realized yesterday that we hadn’t seen Vlado and his wife Beth since the early 90s at a party held by Marty’s parents. 

We hadn’t seen Aunt Eva in at least 17 years when she visited us here in Arlington. I remember that I made a German dinner, schnitzel, spätzle, and red cabbage. I always felt a special connection with Eva. She was one of the only family members who “got me,” and I didn’t have to be phony with her. 

Eva and I kept in touch via email over the years, but it petered out in 2017. 2017 was the year we started our spätzle business, so I’m sure I dropped the ball on that one.

Once Marty and Beth made the connection, she went and got Vlado and their son Nik. We asked how Eva was, and they said, “She’s here!” When we saw her, it was truly a special reunion. This was the first time Eva was reunited with her son and his family since Christmas 2019, just before the pandemic.

I took over the spätzle booth so Marty could visit with his family. They took a selfie and sent it to his brother Peter. Eva came over, and we had a short discussion. I confided in her years back when I was researching leads for biological family members, she quickly asked how it was going, and I said, “I’ve got a lot to tell you.” She also knew my adopted mother lied to me about many things concerning my adoption and never wanted me to find any information until she died. She asked if she was still alive after her stroke in 2013 and couldn’t believe she was. 

Vlado & Beth’s family is gluten-free, which makes sense why she has a gluten-free bakery. Their son Nik lived in Schenectady, NY, before moving to Albany; the family, including Eva, were at the Schenectady Farmers Market one Sunday when we were vendors there. They also have had and love our spätzle; they didn’t know it was us! How funny, right? It just wasn’t the right time to reconnect the dots.

Before we said our goodbyes, we agreed that we need to have a proper reunion with Marty’s older brother Peter who also lives in VT. We exchanged phone numbers, and I sent Eva an email this morning. They all still know me as “Kathy,” so I explained that I left that name and girl behind. 

You never know when things like this surprise reunion will happen. I honestly thought of Eva in the production kitchen last week while I was doing dishes. The belly dance song Brooklyn Baladi came on, which reminded me of her since that’s where she lives. Is this just a coincidence, or were the stars already starting to realign? It doesn’t matter; I was just so happy for everyone that it did. 

It’s 7:45 pm, and we are about an hour away from home. We left Arlington this morning at 6 am for our son Sam’s pinning ceremony for nursing in Delhi, NY.

Sam had the whole day planned out, which we loved because we were his guests. We got to see many of his friends we’ve met before and met a few new ones. 

The pinning ceremony…turns out we couldn’t even step on the college campus. We ended up watching the ceremony at his college family’s house with his friends.

We never saw a nursing pinning ceremony before. We didn’t know about Florence Nightingale’s lantern and what it symbolizes. We watched the ceremony with all nurses, and they told us a little bit about their ceremonies. I know I would have been choked up if I had been there, but it’s still not the same watching it on tv.

One important part of the ceremony is when each new nurse thanks those who helped, taught, encouraged, or supported them. It was supposed to be part of a PowerPoint presentation, which we didn’t get to see on zoom. All we saw on the screen were the words covid 19 and a bunch of shit about it. Yeah, we know all about it by now. Literally, we stared at that for 20 minutes. If we knew what we were missing, it would have been worse. We found out later when we saw Sam.

Sam graduated cum laude and was was one of 6 males in a class of 45 students. More than half the students he started with his freshman year dropped out of the program. 

He earned an excellence award in medical and another for his community service hours with the Delhi EMS & Fire Dept. He ran an untold amount of rescue calls every week even with his busy school schedule, studying, working at the college part-time, and clinicals over an hour away while keeping a 3.79 GPA. 

So today, he was welcomed into the nursing community. He wants to take his RN test ASAP. He will be an RN at 20 years old. I drank and acted stupid when I was 20 years old. He doesn’t take after me, thank God. 

After going out for a celebration dinner, his friends, EMS colleagues, and college family all said how much they would miss him. I thanked them for looking after him and teaching him so much. He found a wonderful community, made friends for life, and had a great college experience even during a pandemic. 

To say how proud we are would be an understatement. To say how tired I am right now while Marty is driving us home is an understatement. 

We have to unpack a load of Sam’s things that we took home for him in our delivery van. Then we need to start packing up for the Troy Farmers Market in the morning. 

Yes, we will be back on the road again tomorrow morning at 6 am. I’m so looking forward to Sunday…a day to rest. Real rest.

Happy Friday, guys! I am making myself a double dirty vodka martini when we get home; after packing up, I’m hitting the hay. 😴 

I love belly dancing. I love performing. I am good at both. I LOVE teaching belly dance!   I think I am pretty damn good at it too.

During the pandemic, I couldn’t teach or dance with my dance sisters for almost a year. I kept up with my technique; as a matter of fact, my technique got better because I wasn’t dancing; I was drilling over and over. Dancing alone sucks.

Our belly dance style is called…stay with me now, because its name keeps changing to make everyone happy. Fat Chance Belly Dance Style Global Group Improvisation Dance. Whew! When I started belly dancing 18 years ago, it was simply called American Tribal Style Belly Dance or ATS.®️

Whatever you want to call it, our style of dance is group improv, meaning we don’t choreograph anything, not even for performances. Our students learn moves, cues, and transitions. There is one leader and the rest of the dancers play follow the leader, then switch leaders. Sometimes we dance so tightly people can’t believe it is improv. That’s the magic and beauty of our dance form. 

I’ve found over the last 17 years of teaching that everyone learns at their own pace. Some with a dance background pick it up quickly, while others with no dance background can learn and move up in their own time. 

Some people are dedicated, practice, take and make corrections, while others get discouraged if they can’t get it right away. Some think they are better than they are and want to move up quicker than they are ready. Some dancers don’t get the whole group improv thing. They let their egos and diva-like personalities get in the way of learning and becoming a dance sister. None of those people were around for too long; don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out. 

Last night Kathleen and I worked with two of our students Maria & Trish. Maria has written about her 4-year long belly dance journey on her own blog Full Moon Fiber Art. I love reading each blog post and how she evolved. 

Maria came to class after being in the audience of one of our fundraiser shows. After the show, she decided she wanted to do “that.” The “that” was not only learning to dance but have confidence and an “attitude” like we had on stage. Most of all, she saw that we were having a blast.

Maria’s first class was a big step for her outside of her comfort zone. It was courageous to show up, not knowing what to expect with zero dance experience. For me, she was a blank canvas ready for us to teach the right way from day one. 

Maria came week after week and slowly but surely got better each week. In the beginning, Maria could not step on the beat, it seemed she had no rhythm, but she did; she just never used it before. I kept telling her every week, “Don’t worry, it will come when it gets into your muscle memory.”

Trish started classes with all of the New Years’ resolution folks who come to the first class of the new year like bats out of hell. The 22 new students dwindled each week. It’s much harder than it looks, and people get impatient and don’t like when they can’t “get it.” They get super pissy and annoyed. It’s week one, for fucks sake; give it a chance. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Trish had balancing issues and didn’t know how to ground herself, let alone do turns. Week after week, like Maria, Trish slowly improved and moved up.

Last night was like light bulbs going off all of the place for the two of them. Kathleen and I can say the same thing about a move repeatedly for years, but one day it suddenly makes sense. 

Maria and Trish both commented on one of the things that we were working on that, “I never heard that before” or “I never realized that’s what your hands, feet, arms or legs are doing!” Kathleen echoed what we have told them both for years, “We’ve said it before; you just weren’t ready to hear it before.” Ah…they get it. 

These ladies worked hard on their technique and last night showed the biggest improvements ever. With each move of the week we teach, we start breaking it down with feet, legs, hips, chest and arms, hands and chin, finally looking up with a pleasant look on your face. Smiling is a tough one to get people to do. It isn’t hard for hams like Kathleen and me. Resting bitch face is not a good look when you are belly dancing. Lol!

Last night we also worked on musicality and the energy that comes out of you when you are dancing. We worked on their zilling and what they needed to do to improve. In Maria’s case, she needs to buy new finger cymbals or zills. The ones she has been using are fine for beginners just learning, but it’s time for her to upgrade to an “instrument” if she wanted her zilling to sound like ours. She tried mine on and heard the difference herself. ☺️

My face hurt from smiling because they got it, all of what we have been saying. There was so much excitement in the air. I was like a proud fucking peacock with both of their accomplishments they achieved in a couple of hours.

The thing about teaching, it makes us better dancers too. We have to do things correctly all the time. There is no laziness or excuses. We ourselves become students from teaching our students. We always say that all of us are students…everyone has things they need to work on and improve. It’s never-ending grasshopper…

Yes, I love to dance, but teaching is so fulfilling, like watching a seed that you plant grow into a beautiful flower. I really can’t tell you how much I loved seeing the smiles on their faces after class and how wonderful all the hard work on our part as teaches pays off! Yip! 

Hopefully, soon we will be able to open our classes up to the public again. Having brand new students not only adds new energy to the dance space but also makes our current students better dancers because they are examples and big sisters to the “newbies.” Yip!

Great job last night ladies…I can’t wait until next weeks classes. 🙂