Sometimes words turn themselves over and peer at you differently. Same word, new relationship. Footloose did that to me recently. Me who hobbles about for the first circuitous part of my day - bed to bathroom to wardrobe to radio to jug for cuppa number two; 50, 60, 100 yards of round-and-about and at some point, somewhere in there, I'm limber-ish again. Too many hours with my knees under the desk, and back it comes, this gait that suggests someone whose body's getting old (how can this be?) Perhaps no surprise then that 'footloose' surfaced, and asked for a second glance. What is it - this anatomical freedom that goes with fancy-free? Springing to the surface - a memory of an unhuggable pretty-faced doll, small enough to hold in one hand, with every joint rotatable. (But be careful pam - she'll pinch you.) Surely footloose with its splatty - even promiscuous connotations - would be a tricky way to navigate the world. What I do like, thank you english, is the notion that feet have their own intentions.
Today I've flung both arms sideways and discovered some space around me. I've gone visiting blogs - and with days - sometime weeks of absence, have felt neither footloose not footsure - more someone whose ankles are snapped shut into rather cumbersome boots. Do I respond, all this time after the fresh delivery of these posts, or would I be leaving a clumsy, muddy footprint. Then I remember the magic of this zone: that I can dance or clobber in, leave no trace, but drink what I choose to, because the offering is there. (Thank you!) And I can make my own offering. Light feet, stiff feet, perhaps which is no matter, I can go out and walk the blogosphere.
You had your dancing shoes on your nimble tootsies when you wrote this. Footloose indeed!
ReplyDeletei love this ramble through language, not the least because i identify with the sometime unreliable limberness of my dear old feet.
ReplyDeletethank you!
Dear Pam, the blogosphere can be a wonderful dancing floor, with folk on all sides, clapping their hands to the music you hear and that makes you move with such delicacy of passion. Does limberness of mind help unlock the body's joints? We can always hope. Thank you from this suddenly old hobbler who wants so much to dance, as you have done. L, M
ReplyDeleteP.S. You were missed and are so welcome back.
Thanks sloop john b.
ReplyDeleteAnd Susan - I like your affectionate reference to your dear old feet. May we continue the kindness to all our body parts as they um grow different.
VS Melissa, yes there are so many ways to dance. It's a freeing thought - forget the body! Meanwhile I like the hope that these minds of ours could hold keys to unlock our joints. Click.
Dear Pam - lovely post as always - did you get an email from me re. TP last night? Your email address via the uni doesn't seem to work? can you email me with a working one -- marymac21@gmail.com - cheers. (Great Tuesday Poem this week!)
ReplyDeleteOh, that the mind can unlock the keys to joints, to all under-performing parts, is my greatest wish. Dancing and walking along the surf line, just getting across the sand to the water...how many lords a'leaping? Those are the legs to have. I assume that the blogland we know is a vast, come-as-you-are party where you, we, are always welcome, never too early, never late.
ReplyDeleteHi Mary, thanks for your comment, and for your check-out and follow-up. Good to be so thoroughly connected!
ReplyDeleteMarylinn -what bliss! To be in the always welcome zone where such things as too early, too late never apply. I'm still getting my head around that, but I'm on the way. I love the vision of lords aleaping down by the ocean - scaring the crabs with their shiny buckled shoes and their bulgy calves..
ReplyDeleteCadence, I just heard "As Is" singing a beautiful song for Molly, your beloved grandmother, but it disappeared before I could save it. I do hope you will post it again. It was lovely and very moving. L, M.
ReplyDeleteThanks for that encouragement Melissa - it's up again. Px
ReplyDelete