Saturday, October 27, 2012

I am cleaning up my sewing/computer/family research/everything room a little bit today because I can no longer work in the chaos.  I have no idea what I might have cleaned out sometime this year but I found a stack of stuff on my craft cutting/ironing table from 25-30 years ago.  Among the papers I discovered something I had written and forgotten.  It was composed as the result of a professor I had for a required literature class.  I will never forget the professor while at the same time never will I recall his name.  What I do remember about him is that the man could not be still -- he was constantly in motion, constantly moving, and not in normal ways!  His inability to be still was so distracting to the students that most of us would finally give up attempting to take notes and instead just stare in disbelief!  Below is what I wrote after one of the classes -- I had him for an evening class.

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THE DANCE OF LUNACY

It starts in a shrill voice that races across the waves so speedily that a Texan fails to hear, much less comprehend or hope to notate.  From there the head is thrown upward, and the eyes roll back under closed lids, not unlike a donkey as it begins to bray.  As the warm-up continues, the hands begin to gyrate in their separate circles - slowly at first - like the propellor on an old airplane; but gaining momentum and ever moving upwards and outward until the arms are engaged in the wide, vicious bands of motion.  Preparation for and actual takeoff lead to the full-body involvement in this self-directed dance of praise; the legs begin their side-to-side, to and fro, back and forth, frontward, backward, pivoting, round-and-round steps until the Texan can no more attend the subject of utterance.  The pen is still; the ears give up; the eyes are consumed by this mobile mass of energy, as it attempts to spew literacy upon the crowd.  And, then, the mass lights, fleetingly, upon the stool - first at rest, but alas, it cannot be still.  The lectern (or is that a podium?), much like a baton, must be moved up, down, around, over to the other side, back to home, and at last is left peacefully as the dance begins again.  

The Texan has lost strength watching the first movement, and is near to collapse as the second part begins - but alas, is obliged to remain until the end of the show.  Stumbling out into the night, the Texan begins to laugh uncontrollably, and is thus entertained through the late-night journey home. Merriment in retelling the event compels the Texan to record the legend.  

Future crowds must be warned!  Old ladies might faint, and elderly gents expire from sustained exposure.  Or, is this a tall Texas tale?  

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When I was in my 20's I fancied myself a writer.  I submitted and had published several things, including a couple of short stories, some poems, and a few greeting card writings.  I still think I do a better job of greeting card writing than what is on/in most greeting cards I see!  

I wrote one "Harlequin Romance" type book in my late 20's.  I always thought that after I retired I would go back to writing.  It hasn't happened.  Hmm, maybe I should kick start myself!