Purim Dance

Tonight was Purim night, sort of, in Jerusalem ... it's complicated. I go to an annual dance party hosted by some friends: dark room, rhythmic music from anywhere between 1972 and 2002, and some nosh.

If I haven't danced in a while, it takes me about six dances worth of swaying to warm up. Once I warm up I can dance for hours. I've reached the age where I don't care what other people think about my dancing. I've learned through discipline how to make sure that every part of my body moves when I dance.

One of the characters in Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkworld series said: "Only men [by which she means humans] sing, only men dance, only men cry."

It takes a night of dancing to remember how integral it is to my life. I forget if I haven't danced for a long time. What a shame. I should make it part of my life more often.

Tomorrow is Purim, sort of. I'll be at my parents for a festive meal.

Friday night and Saturday is shabbat, as well as Purim, sort of. I've been invited out for both meals, and I'll be gaming with Nadine in the afternoon.

Saturday night (also Purim, sort of) I'll be at another party - a jam - at other friends where the only music they play is between 1962 and 1972: Dylan, Dead, Band, and Beatles, essentially. I'll complain and they won't listen, as always. My fault for not playing an instrument, myself.

Sunday is also Purim, sort of. I'll be at another festive meal at yet other friends, this time a barbecue.

I need more weekends like this.

Yehuda