Best Friend Shenanigans

I think every girl, at some point, feels the need to be blond. Visions of walking down a beach, golden tresses blowing in the wind, deeply tanned and well toned body … aww, life is good!

My best friend and I were no strangers to this desire. Shortly after high school, we made our first trip to Florida, chaperon free. Being limited in funds, we had sought ways to bleach out our hair using the sun. We had been told that lemon juice worked really well. After our arrival and check-in at the hotel, we proceeded to the grocery store. 

We had discussed our lemon juice on our 15 hour drive.  We decided we would buy “Real Lemon” in the bottle, pour it in squirt bottles , and then spray it on our hair while we were sunbathing. With the car loaded with bottles of “Real Lemon” we anxiously returned to our room, put on our suits and headed to the pool.  First we slathered up with suntan oil.  I’m a fair-skinned red head, so you can figure out the result of this step.  Then we proceeded to wet our hair and squirt on the lemon juice. We figured if a little worked well, a lot should work really well.

As the sun started to dry out our hair, mine got stiff as a board. Then came the bees!  My best friend, flapping her hands over her head said “What is this with all the bees?  What’s the deal?”  I also was fighting off the bees, when it occurred to me, “ I think they are attracted to all this lemon.”    All Bees Unite!!

We decided we would take a walk down the beach, and surely the bees wouldn’t follow.  Through the warm sand we walked, right down to the water’s edge. Nothing feels quite as good as wet sand when it squishes through your toes. Nature’s pedicure. 

We were wearing suits that were strapless.  God forbid that we would get tan, or in my case, burn lines. As we were strolling along listening to the soft rumble of the waves and the song of the seagulls, we were oblivious to the darkening clouds forming overhead.   Imagine our surprise when we began to get pelted with sharp, pounding rain drops.  We turned and started to run back to our hotel. We had to hold the tops of our suits up, or I’m sure they would have been down to our waist.

Then the stinging began. This time it wasn’t bees. The rain was drenching our lemon covered hair, and all that lemon juice was running into our eyes.   It was quite the decision, as we continued to run, whether we were going to hold up our suits or wipe our eyes. To the gratefulness of the others on the beach, we chose holding up our suits. So we ran blindly the rest of the way to the hotel, eyes clenched tightly due to the burning, stinging lemon juice. 

If you want to bleach your hair, it’s probably best to go to a salon.  Lesson Learned!

This post is for the challenge from The Red Dress Club.  We were asked to write a memory with "lesson learned" either the first two words or the last two words. 

Hearing Music Through My Feet

"One and two and three and four and five and six and seven and eight. And one and two and three and four and five and six and seven and eight."  These were words that I grew up with from the age of four until I graduated from high school.  Turn on the music, and I start to count away.     I've often said that I hear music through my feet.  My choir friends jokingly say, they love to stand behind me during the "Alleluia Chorus."  They're impressed with the hip action.  I don't even realize that I do it.  It's just a natural movement.  I still, even to this day, own a pair of tap shoes.  In fact I have two pair. One with heals, and one called jazz taps.

My childhood was blessed, and I do mean blessed with dance being a large part of my world.  I have often said that besides my parents, that my strongest mentor in my life has been my dance instructor, Miss Bette.  I studied dance from the very young age of four, and continued structured study until I graduated from high school. Then it was time to "move on."  I probably didn't really dance for another five years or so, but it seems that once I got my feet under me, settled into a job after college, and thought I had "grown up", I still often gravitated back to dance.  I joined every type of exercise class I could that involved music and dance. To heck with jogging, treadmills, rowers, stair steppers ... just turn on the music and let me dance.  I clogged with The River City Cloggers, I even taught kinder class for a period of time.   Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like 15 pairs of four-year-old feet in tap shoes.  I had a magic carpet in my class room, and when it wasn't your turn to show me the step, you got to stand on the magic carpet, with a special treat to follow. 

Miss Bette still teaches dance in our community.  She has to be in her late 70's to early 80's, and I believe she looks like she may be 60.  She has trained children, of children, of children.  She'll tell me, on times that we get to talk,  "Oh, I have Lisa's granddaughter in my class now."  She is so vibrant and proud of all the generations that have come her way.  She still teaches "tappercise" and some of my former dance mates and I attended some of her classes. She had every age group in the room, and there was a group of first time adult tappers in the second row.  All of us previous students were lined up in the first row.  She showed us the steps, then turned on the music.  Off we went!  The second row stopped about mid way through and just watched the ones of us tapping away in the front row. Bette just said, "Don't mind them. They've been dancing with me since they were four."   That's 54 years!!!!!

Dance taught me so much more than steps.  It taught me discipline, hard work, and poise.  In my "real job" I am often presenting to a full room of people.  This doesn't intimidate me.  I've been in front of audiences since I was four.    It seems that sometimes during parties or get-togethers with friends the "what if" games start.  You know the 'what if" you could do this over, or "what if" you could have lunch with.  My two favorite "what if" questions and answers are:

"What if you could have chosen your favorite job. What would it be."  My answer, I would have liked to have been 5'9" tall so I could have been a Rockette or a "gypsy" on Broadway and moved from one chorus line to another.

"What if  God asked you something you would like to do in Heaven that you didn't get to do on Earth."  My answer, I'd like to tap dance with Gene Kelly.  Just turn on the rain and give me the umbrella, and I'll be singing and dancing in the rain.

"Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh.  
Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh.
Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh."

If you need a  translation, Miss Bette just taught you the "Old Soft Shoe."   Just keep hearing that music in your feet.  It'll make everything seem brighter every day.

This is written for the prompt from The Red Dress Club.  We were to write about the word "rhythm" without using the word, and tell how it has played a part in our lives.

Get A Leg Up ...

The mountains were majestic, the snow like cotton rolling down a hill.  The peaceful quiet allowing a snapped twig to resonate almost with an echo.

The ski week was over and now it was time to return home. Time to face my family and friends with the realization that, yes, I was returning home injured, leg immobilized in a cast. I think my Mother's concerned look, as I limped off the plane, was the first thing I saw. Then my Father grinning, because he thought I was just kidding and trying to get a rise from my Mother.  But, all kidding aside, I truly was injured.  It was diagnosed as a torn medial collateral ligament in my left knee.  I was referred to an Orthopedist, and everyone who knew me was anxiously awaiting my first visit with him.  After the appointment, everyone was saying, "Isn't he just gorgeous?"  But to tell you the truth, my knee hurt so badly, and he had to draw so much fluid off of it, that I didn't think he looked a bit good.  However, I will say, that as my knee improved, so did he.  I ended up thinking he was pretty dang gorgeous!

I was casted for nearly four weeks with a full leg cast. My leg was absolutely straight with a cast extending from the ankle to the very top of my thigh.  I had gotten really good at maneuvering with this cast.  It was at least weightbearing, so no crutches were needed after the first several days. After tumbling down a flight of stairs, holding school books, I realized that I had to go DOWN the stairs with the bad leg first, and UP the stairs with the bad leg last.  It just didn't work any other way.

One night, about 3 weeks into the injury, I went to a darling little restaurant/cafe with friends. It was called Hearthstone Tavern, and the decor was a bit on the rustic side. I had dolled up pretty well, with wide leg pants that camouflaged the cast quite well.  I only needed to get to the table, sit down, and I would look as normal as everyone else in the restaurant. 

We were seated almost immediately, and I limped to the table with as much grace as I could muster.  Our table was a small round bistro type with four rattan chairs. The chairs were the kind that slanted slightly back with longer legs in the front and shorter legs in the back. We all sat down, and we ordered our round of drinks. Since I was off my pain medications now, I ordered my favorite Margarita. 

Before the waiter returned, I felt like my chair was just a tad bit further back from the table than I thought it should be.  So ... I cupped my fingers under the seat and scooched forward.  My life flashed before my eyes when I realized the chair was tipping over backwards.  Unable to stop the motion, and with my leg in plaster and casted absolutely straight, it came straight up under the table, and it flipped the entire table over and behind me.  You cannot even imagine the waiter's face when he showed up at our table, tray of drinks in hand to find hilarious laughter by my three friends, me on my back in the middle of the floor, with my left leg absolutely straight and completely perpendicular to the ceiling.  With my friends unable to get their breath, and me physically unable to help myself or get up ... were were just a complete mess.  The waiter blubbered something like, "How can I help?" Which just caused more raucous laughter. 

I think I finally rolled over on my right side, got up on my good knee, and was finally able to drag my bad leg up behind me. I guess I can at least be thankful the table wasn't full of food and drink, and none of us were impaled by flying dinnerware.   We were able to gather our composure and actually had a good dinner and good evening. But, every time there was a lull in conversation, the giggles would begin all over again.  And, we all knew that we were going to have to make an exit and get out of there, without causing anymore disruption.  What a night!   Talk about getting a leg up on things.

This post is an answer to the challenge by The Red Dress Club to write of one of our most embarrassing moments.