Now Playing: "Lord of the Dance" music, for Michael Flatley.
This morning after I dressed and did my devotions, I read for MT. Then I walked to Tyrrell to practice flute. As usual, the practice rooms were completely deserted, so I tootled away happily to myself for an hour or so, until it was time for MT to start. There weren’t many people in class today. Dr. M, instead of lecturing, turned on the computer and showed us how to use a computer program that lets you “type” a musical score into the computer—or rather, he attempted to use the program. Dr. M is almost blind, and, to compound the difficulty, uses a Macintosh, not a Dell. So he was all confused by Microsoft’s software. It was rather painful to listen to the class sniggering quietly as he stumbled through the program, muttering and stuttering to himself. Next class was Honors: “
Antony and Cleopatra” this week.
After Honors, Rachel and I walked back to Lottie. Kathryn went with us as far as Twin South. I dropped off my things, then ran to the cafeteria to pick up lunch-in-a-box. Back in the room, I sat and ate lunch and read interviews with Fanny Howe on the internet, while Rachel studied at her desk. After I finished eating, I packed up, said good-bye to Rachel, and left
Tulsa. The hills around
Tulsa are becoming absolutely stunning with autumn colors. The trees that have not changed are dark green, and against their background, crimson, yellow, orange, and maroon glow vividly. A huge raptor, perhaps large enough to be an eagle, veered majestically low over the river. The lake shimmered bright blue between the hills, reflecting slopes spangled with color. As the highway left the hills and entered the crosstimbers, the colors continued to be gorgeous—but in a rougher, wilder way. Sumac, in shades from saffron to orange to scarlet to burgundy to purple glowed in open meadows and gentle slopes. Yellow cottonwoods and maples stood with silver trunks drowned in red pools—and the sky rippled bright blue as silk above, a world tingling with color. Stillwater, when I turned down the curve of the road into its shallow valley, was still green and brown, the trees just beginning to turn.
I stopped briefly at home to drop off my things, then drove down to Irish Dance Class at the gym. I was early. Right after I pulled into the parking lot, Laura squealed in on her bike. The first class, from one-thirty to two-thirty, focused mostly on the smaller ones: Hope K., Christa, Emily, Nathan, Mary, and co. The older children danced in a line in the back. Mrs. Hill, the teacher, led us through a series of simple exercises, building the basics of the steps: jump sevens, leaps, crosses, up-and-back, cut, point, and the prelude. Mary and Emily, standing next to each other, wiggled outrageously. Mary always got her feet mixed up (That all-important question: Which is right, and which is left?), and Emily, following her lead, inevitably did the same. Bridget stood between them and straightened them out. After going through the steps, we danced the reel step in a big circle, follow-the-leader style. We then danced the Walls of Limerick—a dance which follows the circle pattern, but involves couples moving around the circle in opposite directions. Each time you do the pattern, you come face-to-face with a new couple, and then you and your partner dance the pattern with that new couple before moving on. Paige was my partner, and we kept getting mixed up on the turns. During the break, Sarah told me about doings at MTC during the week. At the insistence of the younger ones, we finished with the Bag Dance. Mary and Emily somehow always ended up at the head of the line, giggling gleefully. Dani and Abigail did jump-sevens down the middle to show off.
After the first class ended, the second class began, from two-thirty to three-thirty. This class focused more on the older kids. The younger ones scampered outside to play on the playground. Sarah had to go as well: Since she’s on the robotics team, she has to be in Alva for a presentation today. (Laura is leaving early tomorrow morning with the rest of the team for the actual competition—she’s a driver, so she didn’t have to go for the presentation since they weren’t using the robot.) During the second class, we worked on the Fairy Reel, and got most of the way through. Sarah K., Ruth, Paige, a visiting boy, and I were in a group together (we were missing one girl—my mother should have been in the boy’s spot, and Sarah should’ve been the other girl). Our visitor was a young chap, wearing very baggy grey sweatpants, with big, brown eyes and a very shy smile. He’d never done any dancing before in his life, but Mrs. Hill desperately needed people to fill the squares since a lot of people were gone today. He did a pretty good job. The Fairy Reel is one of my favorite dances: light and quick, with some beautifully simple motions that look impressively complicated. Today we learned diamonds-and-squares: the “gents” dance diagonally in a diamond pattern, while the ladies dance the square from the four-hand reel. Both patterns are going at once so that everyone is moving—perfectly synchronized, but independent. Mrs. Hill had each group go through as much of the dance as she’d taught us, from up-two-three to the diamonds-and-squares. The members of groups that weren’t dancing lounged on the cool concrete floor and watched the dancers. Ponytails and braids swung merrily. Dani’s bobbed hair bounced around her ears on the jump-sevens during the square. Hands raised up like pointed petals, circling round and round. Socks flashed white, black shoes kicking out, soft soles whispering on the smooth floor—and the cheerful music twirling in the background.
After the Fairy Reel, Mrs. Hill had the people who’d learned the Two-Hand Reel last year stand up and dance it for the people who didn’t know it. Laura and I were a pair. We danced pretty well, though I
always get messed up on the spinning at the end. It felt good to move to the familiar Two-Hand music, shimmering like stars behind us, feet perfectly in time to the sparkling-hard rhythm. After Two-Hand, we danced the Waves of Tory. Laura and I were partners again. Up and down, over and under, lines of arms rising and falling, people giggling when they made a misstep. To end, Mrs. Hill had us run quickly through the Four-Hand Reel. Since she didn’t have enough dancers, she tossed me into a square. I learned the Four-Hand in half-an-hour at Crooked Creek, so I hardly know it at all. Will was my partner, and Rebekah and Greg were the other couple in our square. Though I stood head-and-shoulders above all three of them, I was very thankful. Will’s pudgy hand pushed me where I needed to be, and Rebekah and Greg gracefully made room for my faux-pas when I couldn’t figure out the dancing-through and always ended up in the wrong spot. Greg yanked his baseball cap over his scraggly hair and frowned with concentration. Rebekah smiled reassuringly at me. As soon as dance ended, I waved good-bye to everyone and hurried home—sweating, my toes aching from grinding into the concrete floor, but my body pleasantly tired.
At home, I stripped off my dance shoes (jazz shoes, not proper ceilidh shoes) and put on plain shoes. Then my father and I drove out to the OSU Botanical Gardens. They’ve opened up Lakeview, the east-west road that runs past our neighborhood (it’s been under construction), so we took that across the open hills and fields to the west. A lovely drive: the last of the meadowlarks perched on the barbed-wire fences, long lines of brittle grass bowing before the wind. We drove down the familiar road through the OSU Agricultural Extension. The OSU Ag Extension is across the highway from our old neighborhood. We used to go over there all the time: To watch the sheep being sheared, to feed the cattle from open palms, to wrinkled our noses at the pigs, to splash through the ford where the road runs over an open creek bed. The barns look just the same now: On the south side of the road, open plots of land where experimental varieties of grass and wheat are cultivated. On the north side of the road, the sheep barn, then the cow barn. Sheep were wandering through a brown field, dun fleece against yellow grass, blue tree shadows along the fence line stretching over them, the hill behind them flinging up a tawny shoulder where it sprang clear of the trees, into the sunshine. Black cattle stared idly at us from their pens. We bumped over the ford, but the creek is dry. Then up the hill between more experimental plots, and down the long turning drive to the Gardens. Logan met us there.
My father, Logan, and I spent an hour strolling through the Gardens. Pleasant, quiet, out in the cool sun and wind. We walked first through the main part of the Gardens themselves, a small plot of land cradled between the curve of the creek bed, with its enormous pecan and cottonwood trees, and a long stand of pine and pecan trees. Bright Oklahoma flowers, lantana, golardia, echinacea, zinnias, marigolds. A tiny Japanese garden, like a picture on a stamp, with raked white gravel. A banana tree and a cycad, strangely out-of-place jungle plants in a land burned brown for winter. A little water garden, pink lilies floating on brown water luminous as cat’s-eye beryl, with a waterfall splashing over low rocks. A walnut tree, showering the ground with its heavy load. A queenly magnolia tree, gemmed with red-beaded seed pods. The Wizard-of-Oz garden with wooden signs and clumps of flowers in small beds. Then we stepped outside the main gardens, into the experimental area—a couple of rows of new plants, carefully labeled. Sweetness blew from the wispy purple plumes of butterfly bushes.
After awhile, we walked down to the arboretum, closer to the road. The creek makes a w shape: the garden is in the southern curve of the w, and the arboretum is in its northern curve. We sauntered down a long lane under gigantic pecan trees, curled leaves crunching underfoot. We walked between rows of trees: oak, elm, pine, maple. The wind rose and fell in their branches, crooning in the pine trees, ruffling the crimson branches of the young maples. I scuffed my feet through purple sweetgum leaves, delighting in the splash of feet on leaf.
As we pulled into our neighborhood, we passed Stephen, pedaling down the street on his bike to basketball practice. At home, I put a load into the washing machine. Just before six o’clock, I left for the Carrolls’ house, to babysit again. As I went out the door, Laura returned from her basketball practice. At the Carrolls' house, Nathan and Emily were frisking around the front yard, armed with a couple of toy guns, while Duches ran circles around them. As I stepped out of my car, Mr. Carroll and William pulled into the driveway. Mr. Carroll, climbing out of his truck, held an impressive .20 shotgun. All of us trailed behind him to the house. Emily and Nathan begged me to come outside and play with them: They'd both brought their guns in, and Emily brandished hers threateningly at me. "Out! Out! Or I'll put you up for sale on eBay!" Mr. C said, and they all trooped back out again so that Mrs. C could have a moment of quiet to give me instructions for supper. Steam billowed from the lid of a crock pot and swirled around the small kitchen.
After Mr. and Mrs. Carroll left, I went outside to play with the kids. Nathan and William were bumping through the garden on their bikes--old hand-me-down bikes from Philip and Stephen. Garden stubble crunched as their bikes rattled over the soft furrows. Duchess tangled among their wheels. Emily and I hunted around in the garage, and she had me buckle on her bicycle helmet and bring out her battered tricycle. Nathan set up a ramp made of a board and some bricks so that he could do stunts off his bike, but Duchess kept getting in the way. The sun set behind the house, blue shadows gathering under the elm trees, beneath the pear trees in the orchard, around the treehouse and the swingset by the fence.
When Bridget returned from Latin class, we all went inside. Bridget helped me set the food out, while the boys and Emily set the table. We had green beans, pork, and roast potatoes with cheese, butter, and sour cream. While Bridget dished out the green beans, Emily nibbled at her food, though we hadn't prayed yet--she was grinning impishly. Nathan had to move her plate away so that we could pray. The meal was cheerful: Mostly telling jokes at Emily's expense, but she didn't care a whit. Her little black eyes squinted up into dancing curves, and her nose wrinkled with laughter. Nathan took a long time to eat, but after William told a story about how Will used to "clean his plate", Emily cleaned her plate--literally, licking it with her tongue until Bridget and I gave her seconds.
After we all finished eating, I sent everyone to do their chores post-haste. While Bridget served brownies for dessert, I put away the food. Nathan, William, and Emily cleared the table. We sat around in the sun room/schoolroom/dining room, eating dessert and discussing what to do next.
When we finished dessert, we decided to go outside and play spud. Since my readers are likely not initiated into this glorious entertainment, I shall enlighten them. The game runs thus: Everyone chooses a number. Since we had five people, we were numbered 1-5 (I was 3, Emily 1, etc.). Bridget took a flat yellow ball and tossed it as high as she could into the air, at the same time yelling, "3!" As soon as she threw it up, everyone ran--except me. I scrambled after the ball, and when I caught it, I shouted, "Spud!" Everyone stopped where they were. I took three big steps toward them (they were standing, grinning and hooting, in a semicircle at the corner of the house) and whacked Nathan in the chest with the ball. "Nathan, you've got an S!" his older siblings informed him. So he threw the ball in the air and yelled, "5!" That meant Emily had to stay behind, but she needed a little help, so Bridget ended up with the ball again. We continued until Nathan and Emily had both been hit four times (spelling out s-p-u-d). While we played, running around the house, shouting and laughing, the sunset gently leached from the sky. Vivid turquoise became deep blue, then colorless. Shadows huddled under the hedge on the north side of the yard, where the lawn slopes up to a high hedge which separates the yard from the highway.
We decided to play sardines next. William hid while the four of us counted. Emily and I were a team together. We poked around in the front yard for awhile. As we scouted out the nandina bushes around the porch, I spotted a snake slithering down the front sidewalk. Emily and I stopped to watch. He was a fast little critter, streaking over the uneven bricks. Thin as a string, about seven inches long, with a little triangular head. Emily thought it was a worm at first. We watched it until its glinting coils disappeared in the short grass. Then we poked around in the garage. Emily was afraid of monsters, so while she stood in the dim rectangle of light streaming through the door, I investigated the dark corners. We looked around in the garden, the night breeze cooing in the elm trees. Then I spotted something white perched on the fence at the other end of the yard, near the swing set, behind the orchard. Emily and I approached cautiously. I kept one hand stretched out to feel for the thick wires strung between posts for the grapevines. "Is that... a monster?" Emily quavered. "It's a monster! It's a monster!" she chirped, as we got closer. "No, it's not a monster," I said, "but who is it?" We went up and poked whoever-it-was: and Bridget hopped down off the fence, while Nathan and William scrambled out of the compost pile, laughing. Nathan's turn to hide came next. He hid in one of the window wells outside the basement. Emily and I were the first ones to find him. We crouched down next to the maple tree right next to his hiding spot. Bridget and William found us, but they couldn't see Nathan anywhere, though he was less than two feet away from them. Not until Nathan coughed loudly did they notice him. So Emily and I had a turn at hiding. The two of us scurried into the deepest shadows under the hedge. When you're standing in the yard, these shadows look absolutely black, but when we actually crouched under the hedge, the shadows weren't dark at all. Orange light from the nearest streetlamp dappled us through the thin leaves of the hedge, and headlights glared on our faces as cars streamed down the highway, going into town for the OSU football game tomorrow. I pulled my hood over my face and wrapped my arms around Emily to hide her white shirt with my dark jacket. Our small bodies huddled close together for warmth. Bridget was the first to find us. "Why are we hiding out here?" Bridget hissed when she crouched beside us. She soon found out: Nathan looked right at us without realizing we were there. William was the last to find us. Bridget hid next. She hid in the garden--a pale shape in the dim blue twilight, and again, Emily was sure she was a monster until she gingerly poked Bridget's blond hair, and Bridget erupted in giggles.
For awhile, we stood in the vacant garden, looking up at the sky. The kids were nervous because of the dark, but I was delighted to see stars again. Cradling Emily on my hip, I pointed out Cassiopeia and Cygnus to the boys. William spotted the Big Dipper swinging over the northern elm trees. I swung my arm in a circle, mimicking the vague shimmer of the Milky Way overhead so that Bridget could see it. She saw a satellite sailing slowly over the zenith of the sky, its white light burning stilly among the twinkling stars. The night was crisp with cool breeze, but reassuring: the soft earth underfoot, the stubble of corn and tomatoes and squash, Duches bounding along the fenceline and barking at a stray dog, the mingling of streetlight and starlight and dark shadow, and the west still glowing, remembering vivid afternoon.
Eventually, we went inside. Bridget, William, and Nathan wanted to play cat-and-mouse, so we turned off the lights in the "real" dining room, living room, and study. Bridget left the light on in the kitchen, but shut the door. We ordained two safe spots: under the massive dining room table and behind Mr. C's special chair in the living room, a dark green armchair beside the fireplace. Bridget was cat first. William hid behind the armchair, but Nathan, Emily, and I crouched under the table. We played the game with much scurrying and scuffling. Bridget yowled and meowed like a cat. When she caught Emily, she tickled her until Emily couldn't stop laughing. Emily became a cat-mouse--and when I was caught, Emily told me I was her mouse-horse, so I mewed and neighed. "Hey! This game is getting too weird!" Nathan objected. Our hands thudded on the hardwood floor, the old boards creaking as we scuttled between the safe spots, trying to stay away from Bridget.
We played another round in which William was the cat. He spent most of his time sprawled on the sofa, in the doorway between the dining room and the living room. Whenever Bridget or Emily set "paw" outside the dining room table, William reared up and hissed, which made them squeal and dart back again. Headlights wheeled across the walls when someone turned into the neighborhood from the highway. Slanted bars of orange light seeped through the slats of the wooden shutters. When Bridget, in a desperate attempt to avoid William, tried to dive behind the chair, she accidentally banged one of the CD towers. Two bronze candlesticks clattered to the floor, their red candles tumbling after them. Thankfully, nothing was broken.
After cat-and-mouse, we played a version of flashlight tag. We tied a bandana over Nathan's eyes, handed him a flashlight, and sat him down in the rocking chair in the living room. Bridget set one of Emily's smallest teddy bears behind the rocking chair as our "treasure". Then the four of us tried to swipe the teddy bear without being caught by the beam of Nathan's flashlight. William, Emily, and I crouched behind the sofa, while Bridget lurked behind the dining room wall. While William attempted to attack Nathan from the front, I thudded around behind the sofa, banging my feet and the palms of my hands on the floor as hard as I could to distract Nathan. Emily and I ducked whenever he ran his flashlight over the sofa. Sometimes, the house became eerily quiet, all of us sitting in absolute stillness in the dark, waiting for the "opportune moment", while the thin branches of the maple tree made dancing, wispy shadows on the walls. After Nathan, Bridget had a turn, and then William.
By the time it was William's turn, Bridget was ready to have a change of pace, so she took me upstairs to hear her play her flute. Nathan and Emily followed. We went into the guest bedroom. Bridget sat down on a plastic tub and fished her flute case and music out of a denim bag. She snapped her flute together. It's an old Gemeinhardt, tarnished from years of fingerprints. Emily held Bridget's music open, but she was too inclined to wiggle, so she sat in my lap in an armchair, and both of us held the book open together, while Nathan pounded time with his hands on the edge of the tub. Bridget played three or four short songs: simple pieces, "Twinkle, Twinkle" and "Ode to Joy", etc.
William kept yelling up from downstairs, impatient for us to come back and play the game. But by the time we did get downstairs, no one was really in the mood anymore. So we returned to the sun room instead. All the lights were on, light pressing against the dark outside the blank windows. Bridget fished around in the main cabinet, looking for games to play. She found "extreme Uno". While William went fishing for a screwdriver kit to open the bottom of the machine and put in new batteries, Bridget swiped down the card slot with rubbing alcohol. Emily found a small puzzle of a puppy in the cabinet, and sat down at the table to put it together. Meanwhile, Nathan sprawled with me on the old sofa. Nathan explained the game: In extreme Uno, you hit the button on the machine, and it spits out a random number of cards. Apparently, it requires alcohol to moisten the chute so that cards will come out. I sat down beside Emily and started to help her sort the puzzle pieces. Just as Bridget and William were putting new batteries in the machine, Mr. and Mrs. C returned. "Aw, just as we were getting ready to do something fun!" Nathan complained.
"Well, I'm surprised to see y'all are still here! I would've thought Miss E-- would've sold you to the gypsies by now!" Mr. C exclaimd cheerfully as he and Mrs. C stepped in through the back door. They joked around with us for awhile, Mr. C and William tussling, Mrs. C kissing Emily and Bridget. Then Mrs. C paid me, and I waved good-bye.
