Last night at Farley's Mike and I had that rare, rare, rare tango that I wait for. We had already shut the music down when 3, a bit tipsy, couples wandered in and begged to "Please" see one tango. I reattached the power, hooked the Ipod back in and picked La Morocha for our tired legs and feet. This was it. Just about once or twice in a very long stretch of tandas the perfect tango hits us both at the same time. LOST in the music, aware of nothing but the music. Nada mas, but total absorption in the beat and the mournful sound that makes the tango what it is. I often wonder if the young dancers, who are our patient teachers and now our friends experience the unexplainable feeling from that strange relationship- intense connection with another, a bandoneon and notes on a page of 4/4 time.
You know, this tango tent of ours is a labor of love and commitment. Today, only 8 days since we've been back from 2 months in Buenos Aires, the tent is up, floor down, rug ready to be cleaned, everything else is cleaned and almost ready to go for our opening on June 3rd with Carlos Duarte de Che. Only the designated silk flower washer called in sick, but Mary Ethel accomplished the flower job and her vacuuming. 12-3. A not so great lunch and conversation about the Coptic Society and now we nap before Angela Lansbury tomorrow. Gouri on Monday. Every day is a treasure.
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