Woman survives 19 days with no tango!

It’s true. You can survive for that long without tango. However, do not ask for the sordid details of my inner mind, heart, and soul, not to mention my focus, balance, and sense of meaning to life. All has been restored to health and homeostasis since last night’s oxygenating of the blood and lungs with a major dose of Argentine tango. The transfusion began slow and low-keyed about 9 pm with a class, taught by Ramu, at McGinty’s Pub in Arlington Virginia. A milonga began at 10 pm. I had to drive more than an hour to get there from Kent Island, MD. I drove in the dark and the rain, two adverse conditions for me. I had Oscar, Chapter 23 in my book (Tango) with me, to help. He, too, was in a state of withdrawal, but his last dose had been only ten days ago.

BTW, Ramu was an excellent teacher — just one correction, Ramu: What you and Bella called an ocho is actually a back volcado. No big deal — names don’t alter the step.

Probably because my last time dancing was such a major high – both literally and figuratively – I was able to go this long without tango. On August 4, I gave a presentation on tango, my book and the dance, to a marvelous audience of more than fifty in Truckee. The Squaw Valley Institute sponsored me (as they do many other authors). Naturally, I had to show the dance, so I invited Michael Wheeler to be my audacious partner. He is a talented tanguero with an unquenchable exuberance and optimistic outlook on life and tango—a combination to prize highly. He is from Santa Cruz and teaches, DJs, and like me is generally a tango missionary.

Michael (with Deborah Kelly, right, above) made a video of our dancing and the presentation, which I’ll post at a later date. Before I even said a word about tango, Michael and I danced for the audience to a fun version of Hernando’s Hideaway. We chose this music for its easy recognition by the uninitiated and because we wanted to start off “showy.”  Then I read from my book and we showed them how tango in  a Buenos Aires milonga would look–tight and close and not so fancy. We danced to Carlos DiSarli, my faovrite romantic composer. By the end of the evening, people were popping out of their seats with questions—really good ones. They were engaged and I felt the same edification of connection that I feel in dance or in writing. We found a few passionate tangueras in the audience who were more than willing to dance with Michael, thus showing the audience different styles of this obsession. (That’s Michael with Mary Hopf below). Michael worked hard and under challenging conditions:

We were close to 8,000 feet in elevation and the floor was indoor carpeting. Despite those challenges, we feel we converted more than one soul. I sold more than a dozen books. I kept making the point, that you could tango anywhere. Even in a prison cell—the concrete ones, or the metaphoric ones we all create. That is the single most stunning beauty of this dance.

Three days later, on August 7, I flew to Newark, NJ. My mother had fallen yet again (last time was ten months before). This time she broke her elbow and had surgery with pins and plates added to her bones. She is mending well now and what to do about her living situation is a major preoccupation for me and my nine siblings, scattered throughout the world.

After spending time with sisters—Grace (Union City), Donna (Nairobi), and Terry (Belmar, NJ) and some high school chums, we drove to Stevensville, MD, where Mom lives. She was still in rehab and they wanted to keep her two weeks. I told them, I was taking her home after one week. They agreed. She goes down like a kewpie doll. And rebounds (so far, even at 88), like one of those nursery toys with ballast in their bottoms and all hot air up top.  I have been with her since shortly after getting here in all her glory and gory moments. Today, (she doesn’t know it yet) but we are about to start up her tango therapy—which I gave to her last year, last break, also (See Tango and mi madre). This afternoon her PT will come and approve my methodology. That’s a big word for nothing more than having mom hear tango music, watch me (and Oscar) dance, or dance in place with me. It is I, as much as she, who needs the embrace of tango – the gentle moving to music in sync with other. Nothing to it. But it’s like breathing, you have to do it.

Did I mention Oscar the Grouch is visiting? Yes. His son is coming in December to work for the national park concession, Evelyn Hill, at Ellis Island and Liberty Park. So Oscar is scouting out the details for him. And visiting me. He is a big help under the circumstances. And the very oxygen I need.

Sunday, August 29, 2010 – I managed to get away again and attend the al fresco Milonga a la Libertad in Freedom Plaza, Washington D.C. It was awesome. I could see the Capitol shining one block distant and feel the heat of some 50 couples dancing Argentine tango. It was sultry hot and very dewy. But I felt patriotic and Argentine all at once. I didn’t mind the stone plaza, though I did hear many complaints.