Last night, Rick and I were invited to a dance party at the home of some much younger friends. I haven't encountered such a terrific mix of 1975-to-present dance music since -- well, whenever. (How many twentysomethings do you know who buy a new turntable to play vinyl LPs of groups like the Average White Band?) We also contributed excerpts from the infamous Stahlhut 80s Tape; got everyone bouncing first to Romeo Void and then to the Gang of Four. Now wondering whether the next thirty or forty years will bring about an increase in dancing-related back and neck injuries among senior citizens trying to pogo to the oldies.

Years ago I belonged to a different social circle which, like this one, was filled with musicians and whose parties often erupted into bursts of energetic dancing. That group, though, unlike the current one, was burdened with an excess of head games. (Okay, maybe all groups have them, and it's just that I'm simply long past having to participate.) It was strange, though, that in the first group, I would outwardly eagerly await their parties, and the dancing, and the music, while inside I always felt like I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. The latter assessment turned out to be correct. My reaction, fueled by the most intense rage I've ever felt in my life, resulted in my near-complete loss of interest in playing or listening to music of any kind. It's only slowly come back over the last two or three years, to the point where I can now touch the keyboard (my obsession until my late twenties) every few weeks without an increase in blood pressure.

That's why dancing with our new friends last night was as refreshing as forgiving an old enemy.

The first full-length journal article is almost ready for submission. It's been good to think about the bugs again (not to mention trying to learn their names in Spanish at the same time! "Mi amiga es una avispa ....") Going to the lab to work on my writing has been therapeutic, both physically and mentally. (Note to other women undergoing outpatient laparoscopies: They'll tell you that general anesthesia may cause mental fogginess for a day or two. Plan on five. Also, while the experience hasn't been especially painful, neither has it been painless. I needed prescription pain meds for only two days, but Tylenol and naproxen have been my best friends for the subsequent four.) Now that my head's clearing up, I can get some work done. Pretty soon, I'll be avispada* again. :-) (At least until the date, probably some time next month, when I get knocked on my arse with general anesthetics again so that the repairs can be completed.)

For fun: Attempted to channel a Caribbean grandmother in the kitchen this evening, with at least minor success. The black bean soup wasn't bad. :-)

*Avispado/a: adj. Sharp, clever. From avispa (nf), wasp.