Dance like nobody's watching
Sunday, May 27, 2012 at 03:34AM What’s that old saying? Dance like nobody’s watching?
Some of my earliest memories involved doing just this. My sister went to boarding school when she was six and I was three, which left me, to all intents and purposes, an only child. Back then, our music consisted of reel-to-reel tapes – big ones that you had to wind on by hand – and loving relatives in Australia would record classical concerts onto these and mail them out to India. While my parents were working, or in another part of the house, I would put these on, and, to the strains of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Mahler, Brahms, Haydn or Chopin, I danced.
I wore one of Mum’s dresses – fifties frocks – that for me were floor sweeping ball gowns. My hair was short; I pinned an old cloth nappy (not that there were any other sort back then) over my head to create an illusion of long, lustrous locks. Then, belle of the ball as I doubtless felt I was, I swooped and glided across the cool concrete floor, lost in my own little world. Once I remember becoming aware that my mum was quietly watching me, holding very still and smiling.
Of course there were years when I danced in public. As a teenager I rocked the night away to Madder Lake (remember 12 LB Toothbrush? Goodbye Lollipop?), to Skyhooks and Sherbet, to Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs.
When we moved to the country and my kids were little, once they were all in bed, if my husband was at a meeting, the records went on, the curtains were drawn, and I jived around the house. Dancing with nobody looking. They were good years, but hard work, and the dance let my spirit fly. There was a lightness in my chest, an excitement, an elation, as I flew around the house to John Fogarty and early Bruce Springsteen, Tracy Chapman, Rodriguez, Tom Petty and Joe Jackson.
I’ve kept doing this over the years, and now that our nest is almost empty, I can indulge my passion for audience-free dancing more easily. Except that middle age has intervened and since a torn cartilage and knee surgery a few months ago, I cannot risk anything with twists and turns and sudden movements. Prudently, I stick to walking in straight lines.
Not long after I’d had my injury, we were at a wedding of Tongan friends. I watched those crazy Tongans, no warm up or consumption of alcohol or dim lights required, just jumping up and dancing the minute the music started, all of them, from little kids to seriously old ladies, and I nursed my sore knee and felt a pang, felt stuffy and boring and old.
There’s a kind of ecstasy (in the traditional sense of the word) about dancing. Speed and physical movement and wild music setting your heart alight. The Sufis know this, with their whirling dervishes who attain spiritual heights through dance. I’ve always been a sit still and pray person myself, but I can imagine how it works.
Maybe one day I will get back to dancing, increasing age notwithstanding. Or maybe not. But I have the memories of it to make me smile. Memories starting with a small girl in her mum’s dress with a nappy pinned to her head, dancing to Brahms and Mozart in a high ceilinged room.
Reader Comments (2)
When I was in my early teens I fell in love with ballet. I even took lessons! Very soon, I realised I didn't have much talent but still enjoy watching ballet. There's a freedom and joy in dancing which lifts the spirit. So, keep on rockin' Clare.
Have you considered circle dancing, Clare? It brings together hugely varied music, dance, simple and complex, spirituality of a non-religious kind, and conviviality. The youngest member of the group to which I belong is in her early 20s, and our oldest member is in his 80s and the rest of us (up to 20 on a good night) are everywhere in between. If you were here in Perth I'd invite you to come along but I expect there are groups in your part of the world. It was a great incentive for me to recover from a fractured knee I had early last year - and I'm sure it helped in the recovery as well.