I've often said that the heart is a marvelous thing; it keeps our loved ones alive and close, even if they are neither one nor the other. It may be an organ made of tissue and blood, but it is also made of memories.
Showing posts with label dance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dance. Show all posts
Friday, May 30, 2014
Fish gotta swim, redux
Dance has become a part of my life in these handful of years after the deaths of my mother and brother. It is something that moves my soul in a way nothing else has, and brings my joy of music right along with it. I stumbled into it, looking for a way to fulfill a promise to my mother, that when she was gone, I should do something to take care of myself now. And when I say stumbled, that's almost the truth. I went in search of a yoga class and found a dance class instead, but that's another story. Yesterday, dance once again carried me into the realm of memory, this time, via a Nia routine that in many ways mimicked the swim of the dolphins. It brought to mind two memories of my brother Erico, which are linked below:
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Bumma's Bounty: Dancing with the Stars (Originally posted June 30, 2011)
All month, I've been experiencing the generosity of my mother's spirit by sharing memories of her and some of her bits and bobs she left behind with others. I've made donations in her memory to some of the causes she loved, and to some that remind me of her, that she didn't know about in her lifetime. I've shared her story with a number of new friends, including someone beginning the final journey with her own mother. Hearing of how bumma's friends and family showered her with love in her final days, (what I've labeled in in my mind as "The bumma Love project"), she's decided to try a version for her mother, and for herself, to help ease the sadness she is experiencing. This has given me happiness, as have the thank-you's that have come in from people Bumma's Bounty 2011 has touched.
Today, the last parcel I'm sending out of bumma's, for this year, was mailed. It would have gone out sooner, but one thing I was looking for went missing. I searched all over for it, but the gremlins seem to have stored it away for now. Perhaps the recipient, as perfect as I thought, was not the real intended. Perhaps it was for another reason -- that bumma wanted me to find something else instead. As I searched for this item, I found a necklace that Erico and Heather gave bumma for, I think, her 75th birthday. It is a piece of pale turquoise, cradled in gold. I'd forgotten all about it, and was blown away by the memories it evoked, seeing my mother wear it. I slipped the chain over my head, and it nestled against my heart as I continued my search (unsuccessfully, I might add.)
Soon, it was time for me to head to my dance class. I have to say that I've never considered myself a dancer. I took some sort of dance with a formidable woman named Batya Heller when I was 4 and 5. She scared the living daylights out of me, and carried a stick she thumped on the floor to count out rhythms. My main memory of her is that she proudly told us she even slept with her toes pointed. I dreamed of pink tutus and toe shoes, and secretly covered the classy carrying case one of my classmates had for her ballet slippers. What I got was Batya Heller and her stick. As a little girl, I remember watching my mother practice hula in her room. She swayed gracefully to the music, her hips and hands telling stories. (I've written about that <a href="http://bookczuk.blogspot.com/2013/04/aloha-oe-originally-posted-july-04-2005.html">here</a>, previously.) One of bumma's last requests to me was that I try something new, and be good to myself. Last year, I decided that I would honor that promise by starting yoga, which bumma loved. At the studio, I was introduced to <a href="http://nianow.com/">Nia</a>, which was a type of dance that I could gallump through and feel good. Over the past year, I've seen how my body has responded to the freedom of movement it experienced through dance, so much so, that I find myself heading off to the studio 3 or 4 days a week to dance, and have even added belly dancing into the yoga/nia mix (wouldn't Bumma have <i>loved</i> that?!)
As the music started, today's dance began with some gentle arm movements and hip-swaying, reminiscent of hula. Suddenly, the air around me was filled with my mother's scent. It startled me so, that I almost began to weep. I looked around, expecting to see her face. But then I realized that the gold chain and pendant I wore must have carried a little remnant of her perfume. As I danced, and my body heated up and moved, it was released. I danced in the arms of my mother. Bumma found a way, two years later, to send out her essence and embrace me. I danced with a star.
Today, the last parcel I'm sending out of bumma's, for this year, was mailed. It would have gone out sooner, but one thing I was looking for went missing. I searched all over for it, but the gremlins seem to have stored it away for now. Perhaps the recipient, as perfect as I thought, was not the real intended. Perhaps it was for another reason -- that bumma wanted me to find something else instead. As I searched for this item, I found a necklace that Erico and Heather gave bumma for, I think, her 75th birthday. It is a piece of pale turquoise, cradled in gold. I'd forgotten all about it, and was blown away by the memories it evoked, seeing my mother wear it. I slipped the chain over my head, and it nestled against my heart as I continued my search (unsuccessfully, I might add.)
Soon, it was time for me to head to my dance class. I have to say that I've never considered myself a dancer. I took some sort of dance with a formidable woman named Batya Heller when I was 4 and 5. She scared the living daylights out of me, and carried a stick she thumped on the floor to count out rhythms. My main memory of her is that she proudly told us she even slept with her toes pointed. I dreamed of pink tutus and toe shoes, and secretly covered the classy carrying case one of my classmates had for her ballet slippers. What I got was Batya Heller and her stick. As a little girl, I remember watching my mother practice hula in her room. She swayed gracefully to the music, her hips and hands telling stories. (I've written about that <a href="http://bookczuk.blogspot.com/2013/04/aloha-oe-originally-posted-july-04-2005.html">here</a>, previously.) One of bumma's last requests to me was that I try something new, and be good to myself. Last year, I decided that I would honor that promise by starting yoga, which bumma loved. At the studio, I was introduced to <a href="http://nianow.com/">Nia</a>, which was a type of dance that I could gallump through and feel good. Over the past year, I've seen how my body has responded to the freedom of movement it experienced through dance, so much so, that I find myself heading off to the studio 3 or 4 days a week to dance, and have even added belly dancing into the yoga/nia mix (wouldn't Bumma have <i>loved</i> that?!)
As the music started, today's dance began with some gentle arm movements and hip-swaying, reminiscent of hula. Suddenly, the air around me was filled with my mother's scent. It startled me so, that I almost began to weep. I looked around, expecting to see her face. But then I realized that the gold chain and pendant I wore must have carried a little remnant of her perfume. As I danced, and my body heated up and moved, it was released. I danced in the arms of my mother. Bumma found a way, two years later, to send out her essence and embrace me. I danced with a star.
Aloha Oe (Originally posted July 04, 2005)
I am the youngest of three. There was a two year gap between the birth of child number 1 and child number two in our house, but at the ripe age of 34, six years later, Bumma found herself expecting for a third time. Bumma, for 84, is still a lovely looking woman, but in earlier days, she was absolutely stunning. She had a healthy, earthy glow about her, totally natural and fresh (especially given the fashions of the 50's...) My elder brother recalls how kids in the neighborhood would come to our house just to look at her and bask in her warmth.
I wasn't a terribly big baby, but as the days moved into summer, Bumma recalls how graceless and cumbersome she felt. Her body was not the slim shape she was so accustomed to. Summers in the Washington DC area are sticky and hot. She lumbered through her days, feeling slightly elephantine and clumsy, and even recalls that she couldn't fit through some doorways if she was sideways. She's a little slip of a thing--5'2' at her peak, maybe 100 pounds soaking wet.
One evening, she and my father were out with friends, when they saw a Hawaiian dancer. Bumma was captivated by the flowing motions of the dance, the gentle sway of the woman's hips and enchanting movements of the hands and arms as the dancer danced her story. The hula clearly called to my mother, a daughter of Jewish immigrants, who was born and raised in Brooklyn and Brighton Beach. The soft music of another beach and the islands ensnared her heart.
And thus, after I was born, my mother learned to hula dance. She and her friends met to take lessons. Mildred Kushner became so entranced that she formally changed her name to Milanii Lee. Bumma didn't go to such measures, but loved the dance. She was never brave enough to dance in public, but would dance at home, for my father. Each day, she'd practice in front of the mirror. I still remember sitting on the floor watching her...the long mirror in her bedroom, the rays of sunlight streaming through the window, dust motes dancing in the beams--and my beautiful mother swaying in the rhythm of the music. On rare occasions, she'd take out a grass skirt she had acquired somewhere and dance in that. The fronds had a swish and whisper that added to the cadence of the dance. It was magical.
Bumma recalls how she'd look down at her youngest child, a golden headed girl, sitting on the floor next to her. And as Bumma moved her arms and hands to tell a story, the little girl at her feet also waved her little arms in time to the music.
It was one such day that the phone rang while Bumma danced. The call came from her elder brother. Her beloved mother, Ida, was ill--comatose. Years later, when Bumma was telling the story of her mother's death, I asked her if that was the time she stopped dancing and cried on the phone. I was two. I still remember. Bumma left that day to be at her mother's side.
Ida died that weekend. Bumma never danced the hula again.
ALOHA OE
© 1878
Lyrics & Music: Queen Liliuokalani; English lyrics © 1923 arr. By Chas. E. King
Despite the common story that the Queen composed "Aloha Oe" while imprisoned in the Palace during the overthrow of the monarchy, George Kanahele in Hawaiian Music and Musicians states it was common knowledge at the time that she wrote the song during a horseback ride to the ranch of Edwin Boyd in Maunawili, inspired by the giving of a lei to one of her party by a Hawaiian girl at the gate of the ranch.
ALOHA OE
Queen Liliuokalani
English
Proudly swept the rain cloud by the cliffs,
As on it glided through the trees
Still following ever the "liko"
The "Ahihi lehua" of the vale...
Farewell to thee,
Farewell to thee,
Thou charming one who dwellst among the bow'rs.
One fond embrace,
Before I now depart,
Until we meet again.
Thus sweet memories come back to me,
Bringing fresh remembrance of the past
Dearest one, yes, thou art mine own,
From thee, true love shall ne'er depart.
(Chorus)
I have seen and watched thy loveliness,
Thous sweet Rose of Maunawili,
And 'tis there the birds oft love to dwell
And sip the honey from thy lips.
Proudly swept the rain cloud by the cliffs,
As on it glided through the trees
Still following ever the "liko"
The "Ahihi lehua" of the vale...
Farewell to thee,
Farewell to thee,
Thou charming one who dwellst among the bow'rs.
One fond embrace,
Before I now depart,
Until we meet again.
Thus sweet memories come back to me,
Bringing fresh remembrance of the past
Dearest one, yes, thou art mine own,
From thee, true love shall ne'er depart.
(Chorus)
I have seen and watched thy loveliness,
Thous sweet Rose of Maunawili,
And 'tis there the birds oft love to dwell
And sip the honey from thy lips.
I wasn't a terribly big baby, but as the days moved into summer, Bumma recalls how graceless and cumbersome she felt. Her body was not the slim shape she was so accustomed to. Summers in the Washington DC area are sticky and hot. She lumbered through her days, feeling slightly elephantine and clumsy, and even recalls that she couldn't fit through some doorways if she was sideways. She's a little slip of a thing--5'2' at her peak, maybe 100 pounds soaking wet.
One evening, she and my father were out with friends, when they saw a Hawaiian dancer. Bumma was captivated by the flowing motions of the dance, the gentle sway of the woman's hips and enchanting movements of the hands and arms as the dancer danced her story. The hula clearly called to my mother, a daughter of Jewish immigrants, who was born and raised in Brooklyn and Brighton Beach. The soft music of another beach and the islands ensnared her heart.
And thus, after I was born, my mother learned to hula dance. She and her friends met to take lessons. Mildred Kushner became so entranced that she formally changed her name to Milanii Lee. Bumma didn't go to such measures, but loved the dance. She was never brave enough to dance in public, but would dance at home, for my father. Each day, she'd practice in front of the mirror. I still remember sitting on the floor watching her...the long mirror in her bedroom, the rays of sunlight streaming through the window, dust motes dancing in the beams--and my beautiful mother swaying in the rhythm of the music. On rare occasions, she'd take out a grass skirt she had acquired somewhere and dance in that. The fronds had a swish and whisper that added to the cadence of the dance. It was magical.
Bumma recalls how she'd look down at her youngest child, a golden headed girl, sitting on the floor next to her. And as Bumma moved her arms and hands to tell a story, the little girl at her feet also waved her little arms in time to the music.
It was one such day that the phone rang while Bumma danced. The call came from her elder brother. Her beloved mother, Ida, was ill--comatose. Years later, when Bumma was telling the story of her mother's death, I asked her if that was the time she stopped dancing and cried on the phone. I was two. I still remember. Bumma left that day to be at her mother's side.
Ida died that weekend. Bumma never danced the hula again.
ALOHA OE
© 1878
Lyrics & Music: Queen Liliuokalani; English lyrics © 1923 arr. By Chas. E. King
Despite the common story that the Queen composed "Aloha Oe" while imprisoned in the Palace during the overthrow of the monarchy, George Kanahele in Hawaiian Music and Musicians states it was common knowledge at the time that she wrote the song during a horseback ride to the ranch of Edwin Boyd in Maunawili, inspired by the giving of a lei to one of her party by a Hawaiian girl at the gate of the ranch.
ALOHA OE
Queen Liliuokalani
English
Proudly swept the rain cloud by the cliffs,
As on it glided through the trees
Still following ever the "liko"
The "Ahihi lehua" of the vale...
Farewell to thee,
Farewell to thee,
Thou charming one who dwellst among the bow'rs.
One fond embrace,
Before I now depart,
Until we meet again.
Thus sweet memories come back to me,
Bringing fresh remembrance of the past
Dearest one, yes, thou art mine own,
From thee, true love shall ne'er depart.
(Chorus)
I have seen and watched thy loveliness,
Thous sweet Rose of Maunawili,
And 'tis there the birds oft love to dwell
And sip the honey from thy lips.
Proudly swept the rain cloud by the cliffs,
As on it glided through the trees
Still following ever the "liko"
The "Ahihi lehua" of the vale...
Farewell to thee,
Farewell to thee,
Thou charming one who dwellst among the bow'rs.
One fond embrace,
Before I now depart,
Until we meet again.
Thus sweet memories come back to me,
Bringing fresh remembrance of the past
Dearest one, yes, thou art mine own,
From thee, true love shall ne'er depart.
(Chorus)
I have seen and watched thy loveliness,
Thous sweet Rose of Maunawili,
And 'tis there the birds oft love to dwell
And sip the honey from thy lips.
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