On Wednesday the forecasters predicted rain and/or snow, but in Colorado the weather is temperamental and unpredictable, like a toddler who is late for naptime.
It began in the afternoon with the wind whipping fiercely. There seemed to be several torrents of wind going in many directions. At times they even seemed to create small whirlpools sans the water. The flags and their tethers protested loudly, banging on the pole, but the winds contiued on, ignoring their plea. Soon enough snow joined in. The first bits of snow looked like someone had chewed up a styrofoam cup and spit it out, the perfect, tiny, hard frozen bits swirled in the windy currents. Then the more sensible, fat snowflakes made an appearance, forgoing the windy dance, choosing their customary glide downward. In time the wind had to give up the stage and move east. The fat flakes grew in number and soon there was a light blanket of white that toned down the colors found outside. This continued on through the evening, making for a messy, slippery drive home.
Just as many people were settling in for the evening, we were headed out to dance class. The traffic was stacked up on Sheridan like dominoes, slowly inching forward. Our drive to the dance studio took 45 minutes, instead of the usual 12 minutes. Ellie stressed most of the way - she hates being late. She likes to arrive at least 10 minutes early. Upon our arrival we found just what I had expected, only a few hardly, dedicated souls made the voyage out. The teen class had less than 1/3rd of the usual crew. It seemed that the private lessons had all be canceled, but the teachers had to stay. So they played.
A good dance instructor, or rather, any good dancer, knows both the roles - the leader and the follower.
So here we were. The few who made it to dance class were in their room doing their moves. I sat at a table with my knitting. A few other parents were parked on the couches behind me. The music continues on. Soon Jen, a diminutive spark of intense energy lights the floor with Timmy, a 6'4" dance machine. The two of them begin to glide around the room in picture perfect form. Then the silliness begins. They seem to take turns altering the holds, putting new angles in the usual dance stance. Jen giggles at how it feels to dance in such a strange new stance. She's got to share her discovery so she calls Taylor out to the dance floor. There's Timmy in his men's dance pants, the kind that are tight at the waist and then develop into a flare at the end of each leg, a neat green button up shirt tucked in neatly. Timmy, sporting a playful grin, agrees to have a go at it. He takes Jen's spot and the dance begins. At first he seems to take it all in stride. Soon the two of them ham it up, Timmy making a comical sport of the woman's part. They glide around the dance floor at top speed, still as graceful as ever. The members of the teen class can't resist the energy from that frolic. One instructor in the teen room calls out, "Timmy, you're so pretty!" And then the laughing busts out. I could see that he tried to keep a pretty and controlled looks, but soon the laughter cracks across his face and spreads to Taylor's too. The dance breaks up into silliness, but like two little kids. They decide to bring Corbin into the fun. He is the Latin specialist. He tries to play it cool, but is soon swept in. The two men begin to dance, Corbin as the follower. But that does not last very long. Soon, he has taken over the lead, even as he dances the woman's part. The two men, very different, playfully take turns leading. It has its own merriment complete with dips and spins. Jen breaks back in and goes on dancing, standing as tall as possible since there seems to be more than a foot difference between them. At times Taylor bends a little to get closer to the correct height for her spins and dips.
It had never occurred to me that dance instructors would play like that - it was fun to experience. I wonder what the next snow storm will bring.
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On a completely different note, here's what Ethan is enjoying these days:
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