adventure, dare to be different

B is for Burlesque

Today was a new adventure with friends. An introduction to Burlesque dancing. A fun way to get in a little fitness and channel one’s inner dancing queen.

We had boas, gloves and dressed in all black. The first 4 steps seemed easy enough. Then another four. And another four. Would I remember them all? We practiced each segment a few times. Added music. Strung the steps together, until it formed a dance.

Such a fun process. Lots of giggles and plenty of firsts for each girl in the class. The instructor was fun and mixed in well with the group. The music helped the flow of linking the steps or at least it did for me.

We even had an ad lib portion at the end to express yourself any way you like. That ended up being pretty interesting. When the evening began I had no expectation. I was set to embrace the opportunity. It was worth it. I would recommend this adventure to both males/females. Anyone can learn burlesque. Let me say that again or louder for anyone reading this. You can do burlesque. It is for every shape, size, gender person. You just need to embrace the movements.

When you need something fun to do, something out of the ordinary, look for a dance class. Maybe you are more conservative and would like to start with ballroom. Maybe you are more of a hip hop kind of person. Whatever your fancy, take a lesson. See how you fare. 

If you never try, you will never now how much fun you can have. Life is about living. Remember to step outside of your comfort zone to try new things. I for sure never thought I’d be honing my skills as a burlesque dancer, let alone writing a blog about it.

We might have even thrown on a wig or two to add some flair to the big show. Ah, wonder what my next adventure post will entail…

 Until next time.

celebrations, dare to be different

What a Drag Brunch

I recently got invited to attend a Drag Brunch. I couldn’t resist going. I just had to see what it was all about. What to wear was my first question. I couldn’t wait to add this adventure to my “new to me” activities for this year. Off I went with friends. No expectations just prepared for what might be.

Upon arrival there were colorful boas on each table. Great for a quick photo opportunity and some giggles. The feathery accent piece got old real quick for me. It was itchy and left stray feathers all over me. Off that went. Food and mimosas came out while you socialized and listened to music. I’d call this the kill time phase while the queens got into costume.

This was the Drag Queen who managed the show. Her name was Cake. Her introduction says what’s a party without cake? No party is a party without cake. Clever. Funny. Applicable. Cake rolled in at 6 foot four and this Queen left her mark on the audience. From big hair to her fan snapping movement. She even broke a nail in her first act and had to have it reapplied because it’s a much needed accessory.

This queen was a jumping diva. She jumped off chairs and flipped in the air. The pure acrobatics and energy were nothing short of amazing. The hair flips even seemed to match her choreography. The details the divas displayed.

The costumes were very intricate and went with the personalities of the performers. Real showmanship was viewed on this day. I could see such a sense of pride in all they did. It was funny to hear many had real day jobs and this was a weekend gig. Made me think about who is behind the makeup and costumes.

Another fun experience for my record book. Many more to come but I do enjoy sharing this experiences on the blog in case others want to venture off to try something new or for those who won’t they at least get a glimpse from my lens.

Have an amazing week. Be the queen that you are. Embrace your inner diva. This statement may sound sexist but since a drag queen is well a drag queen I’m applying this statement to all genders.

challenges, health, Teddie Bear Adventures

Ruff Week

This week was ruff in many ways but I chose the spelling of ruff not rough to symbolize the main trauma of the week as it has to do with my dog and the roller coaster ride we have been on.

Let’s start with last Friday. She spent the day at the groomer getting all spiffy. Check out the picture below of the fitness of health dog edition. A fabulous Labradoodle weighing in at 49 pounds and 11 months old. My baby.

Then Monday rolled around for a routine spay surgery. Complications hit quick. Delays in the operating room. Challenges in recovery. More tests. X-rays. More observation. A few hours with my baby and then labored breathing hit. Luckily I’m minutes to the veterinarian. She stopped breathing en route. Had to be on oxygen and have an immediate blood transfusion. So much chaos in the blink of an eye.

Another operation was required. Internal bleeding was the cause of her rapid decline. Long days. Sleepless nights. This poor baby was at the vet for five days. 24/7 observation. Poked and poked again. On IV fluids and pain meds. We all felt her void. We all felt her suffering. Even her sister was depressed. She was missing her best friend as the rest of us were too. Can you see the sadness below?

Once this one was an only child and it took some adjusting when we added #2. But now she is lost without her partner in crime. Days were long but the reuniting part was amazing. The kisses and sniffs by both pups. The snuggles from the patient. Just the presence of everyone at home was peaceful. Or seemed so, but the positive moments could easily be short lived.

Now the hard part continues. The recovery after 2 surgeries and a blood transfusion, all before turning one year old.  We were lucky this time. We dodged a few close calls. Timing was everything. The moral of this story is trust your gut. I felt things were not right and reacted. Had I brushed off my thoughts and not trusted my gut things could have ended differently. 

Not sure how I feel about my over share of photos but the blood above is just one of the post surgery bleeds. Some from the incision point. Some from stool area. More bodily fluid in the form of vomit. Thank goodness my first floor isn’t carpeted as it might look like a murder scene. 

My ruff week will spill into next week but that is okay. My perspective on routine surgery vs the reality has me ready to take on anything that is thrown at me. Mental toughness. I got it down pat. Years 2020-2022 have given me lots of practice for sure. A pandemic. Loss of loved ones. Isolation. Trauma of many kinds. 

The good news I am here. Blogging away. My creative projects may have delayed deadlines but my life is moving on and I’m living through the ups and down and everything in between. I choose happy despite the shit show around me. 

nature, working women

The Old Barn

This old barn sits on a property I frequent. It is old and dumpy to say the least. However I love taking pictures of this old barn. Whether I choose natural light, black and white or some variation thereof, I am happy. Each view is special. Each moment captured tells a story.

Sun rising. Sun setting. Fall or spring. Each season and each time of day makes it look a little different. I don’t know what year it was built and I definitely don’t know of its history. I can tell animals were fed there at some point due to the feeding troughs inside, but that’s about it.

The barn’s aged wood makes for a great photo backdrop. The unfinished look is all the rage for photographers. This still shot is just from my camera roll but it still shows the beauty of its imperfections up close. Even the weeds off to the side add character.

This angle shows the door up close. Once practical but now ornamental. Again a beautiful backdrop but yet so different the the previous shots. Somebody’s junk is always another’s treasure. For this barn is junk to many but it’s a hidden treasure to me.

The silver tone above again highlights the barn a little different. Just the angle makes the size and shape seem a little different. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and this little dumpy barn is just a little happy spot for me. I can sit by with my old truck and think about what it once was. I can drift by it while doing my lawn trimming and sigh that it’s all mine.

Not sure how many heavy wind storms it will hold up against but for now I’m enjoying the sight of it. One day I might just have the photos. Time will tell. Just a girl and her red barn story today.

challenges

The Murder Next Door

It was a sunny Thursday afternoon. I had dinner with some friends to talk about our daughters’ upcoming graduation party. I made it home about 6:10 pm…not bad, I thought. Not bad, until I crested the hill and saw the long line of blue lights leading up to my neighborhood. They weren’t letting people turn in. Had there been an accident? I inched up to the front of the line of cars waiting to turn in. I rolled down my window, telling the policeman directing traffic that I lived in this neighborhood. Can I turn in?

No, he said, with almost a little laugh. This is an active crime scene. There’s been a shooting. Keep moving.

I’m sure my jaw hung open as I slowly rolled forward, past my seemingly quiet suburban neighborhood. I spied the yellow crime scene tape stretched across the road. What do I do now? Where do I go?

I called home to see if anyone was there. They were, and had no idea what was going on. They went outside to see a cop car right in front of our house. Someone was in the back seat.

I ended up parking down the road at a brand new parking lot for a park. Other neighbors were already gathered there, waiting. We saw a helicopter circling.

Details came from all directions. Fragments of a story trickling in. Neighbors who were in the subdivision called with reports of what they saw. One crime scene turned into two. Texted photos of a young man’s body laying in a yard, being cradled by a woman, screaming.

Then the second crime scene developed…astonishingly, the house next door. The older couple. The ones out playing Motown on the weekends as they tended to their lawn and their grandchildren. Grandkids playing basketball in the driveway, waves from their car as it pulled in.

He shot her. Killed his wife. In the basement.

IN. THE. HOUSE. NEXT. DOOR.

And then, he killed his son-in-law, presumably when they came over to the house and found her. They tried to get away, but he killed him at the end of the street.

My jaw still hangs open when I stop to think about it.

(Did I mention this was in the house next door?)

I will never understand…. why? She was friendly and kind. Frankly, the killer was too. I didn’t know the son in law. Rumor has it he was mentally impaired. The man who murdered him could sometimes be seen walking the young man up and down the street for exercise. And now, one of those men is dead. The other sits in jail. I will never understand.

The neighborhood stayed roped off most of the night. Once the helicopter had gone and people were roaming freely in the neighborhood (except for getting in or out), I decided to take a path home through the woods. It was an eerie feeling that night. Like you were living next to a stranger. Who could do such a thing? Fresh eyes of a sort. Cast with sadness.

Since then, the house next door sits empty. The children of the dead woman and murderer come over to clean it out. I cannot imagine their sorrowful work. The heaviness. The heartbreak.

What will happen to the house next door? I would assume someone will move in, eventually. For now, it is just dark and quiet.

And for now, I just feel sadness. For the lives lost. For the family that lost a mother, a grandmother, a father, a son, a friend. None of it could ever possibly make sense.

I walked by the mailbox today. It hung open. So many letters and catalogs piled up. A hanging basket the family moved off the screen porch laid on its side in the front yard. Life goes on and things pile up, topple over, are left undone but left nonetheless.

You never know what is happening behind closed doors. What someone might be capable of. Even the neighbors you wave at, smile at, could be hiding something dark and sinister. Is the message to be kind? Is the message to be wary? Yes and yes.