Waffles and Dragon Dancing

Monday, I was shuttling my dad to the Urgent Care in Corvallis, and the whole process was taking hours and hours. (My Dad is fine. He’s fine. He’s Old.) I texted Mark to let him know that I wouldn’t be home in time to Feed The Animals.

He texted back that he’d probably be passed out on his work computer.

“Just make sure you don’t get waffle-face from the keyboard!” I texted back.

“Oh! Waffles! That’s a great idea!” he texted.

So I wasn’t too surprised when I walked into the home filled with the smells of gluten-free waffle batter and maple syrup. And raspberry preserves. And Nutella. For Dinner. And Second Dinner.

There were various digestive consequences, but I’m sure it was worth it.

Thursday night I had a tension headache (not sure if it was from computer work, or driving, or a sugar-crash), which I resolved to address with some Dragon Dancing in front of our house. The evening was clear (the First Real Autumnal Deluge has not occurred yet) and I wanted to dance in the twilight outside with the Dragon Poi LEDs on instead of under the covered YMCA patio, which is harshly lit with canister lights. Also, using the patio sometimes requires negotiation of the space, as Dragon Dancing can take up a quarter of the patio if I let it (and it would be poor form to whap a yogi or kettlebeller if I got carried away).

The new crescent moon was playing hide and seek with some fir trees behind our house, and so I did a little dancing with it. There’s not too much traffic on the street, but I did have to occasionally retreat to our driveway, Dragon a-flutter. Spotting the cars usually isn’t too much of an issue, but there are times when I miss having a bunch of compatriots out in the street with me, ready to shout “Car!” and make everyone scatter to the curb (and it would be poor form to get whapped by a car if I got carried away).

The sky purpled and the first few stars came out. As I was dancing I saw a lone figure walking up the hill in the street. It was Mark coming home from a late afternoon yoga class. I whirled the Dragon over my head and around my body in wide arcs. Then I stepped forward, clasped Mark with one arm, and kissed him while the Dragon’s illuminated body wheeled around us like a comet.

I’m pretty sure this counted as a Moulin Rouge moment — even if the neighbors did not pop out of their houses to engage in choreography.

And nobody got whapped by anything.