Her hips bang side to side, feet stomping. She’s moving her hands up her body and to the ends of her long dancing hair while the young men in a tight circle around her take swigs from green, amber and clear bottles, clearly drooling at the sight of the flower in their midst. Stingers ready.
Windows on the boat are fogging up. My ears hurt with the throb of Salvadorian lyrics which are mostly unintelligible to me but piercing in volume. There's no break between songs. They simply change rhythms. Dancing is non-stop, simply changing participants. Few sit for very long.
We weave our way across the dance floor through the throng of a hundred twenty, and up the stairs to face the biting wind on the upper deck. The beauty of the Golden Gate Bridge bedecked in lights and its never-ending re-coats of orange paint takes our breath away. The ferry chugs forward to cross under the magnificent structure. We marvel at the geography and ingenuity that created this wonder of the world.
Downstairs, she has made her selection from among the staggering, swaggering, leering guys. By the time we return to the steamy dance floor, she and her selectee are thigh to thigh gyrating and sweating while the music thrums and the young men stomp and clink bottles in a bigger circle, their faces a mixture of pride, perhaps, that one of their own made it into her immediate sphere, and disappointment that it wasn’t them.
Women my age, twice, maybe three times her age meréngue, samba, and forro with grace and vigor. Clearly, age does not impede capacity for hip sway and undulation. Evelyn in her sapphire blue dress extends hands to me. I dance. Music and beat enter my bones. Strangely my ears stop hurting as I stomp and gyrate with the other dancers. I beckon and my beloved rises to join me and does a comic strip-tease taking off only his tie. All laugh with delight.
We’ve all paid to come on this Bay cruise in support of children in a small village in El Salvador which is as yet untouched by gang activity. Each of us celebrates the occasion in our own way. High school buddy Judy, who works with Evelyn, one of the organizers of this evening’s fundraiser, enjoys the dancing mostly from a distance. Her feet pain her. We take selfies with San Francisco’s skyline and the light show of the Bay Bridge as backdrop. It’s a beautiful, unexpectedly raucous night.
Back at the dock after the three hour cruise, the winning raffle ticket holders’ numbers are called out while the crew prepares for disembarking. We won naught but the camaraderie of of former strangers. The cessation of the loud music makes my ears ring as if they’re reaching out for missing sound. We say good night in English and in Spanish and laugh with our new acquaintances and dance partners as we walk into the chilly Tiburon night.
In memory, on our way home, I marvel at the macro display of selection dancing that mirrors the internal dance of sperm and ovum. I pray silently that the young woman who was circled by ten preening young men, makes good choices for life.
* * * * * * * * *
A week ago, our younger daughter and her beau of eleven years exchanged heart-felt vows in front of their community of family and friends. What a joy to witness the tender holding of this committed couple by their chosen circle.
The lead up to the wedding was also a joy-filled time. Megan, the bride drove to our home on Wednesday. She, her sister Mosa and I, and our granddaughter did the obligatory “Steel Magnolias” thing of getting our nails painted that evening. Megan's out-of-town guests arrived on Thursday. The nine gals had a bachelorette slumber party here that night and were gracious to include me. We played a live version of the old board game, “Hungry Hungry Hippos,” involving three skateboards, lots of colorful two inch balls, large plastic cups, and one team member from each team on her belly being pushed by her legs so the skateboards moved forward and back for us to catch the balls. Laughter gave all our abs a good workout! Friday, the gals relished all the sights and best of the thrift stores in San Francisco.
Friday night, the groom’s folks hosted the wedding party dinner at Boca Nova, my new favorite restaurant in Oakland’s Jack London Square, right on the Bay. What fun getting to know Grady’s older brother John and sister Kelli and her husband Garret as the sun cast golden light over all, increasing the glow surrounding the bride-to-be and her groom.
Saturday morning found me and my honey Mark, daughter Mosa, and Grady’s mom ferrying decorating materials, games and art supplies for the kid’s room to Oakland Zoo's venue building. There, we were met by the coordinator and her team, and the caterer and her team. With scant few suggestions from the mothers of the bride and groom, the entire hall was transformed with yards of fabric, silk flowers, and twinkle lights, and three glass urns of Mosa's yummy "Mocktails" while we all went back to get dressed for the festivities.
The joy in Megan’s eyes, her radiant beauty, perfect new dress, shoes, hair, and peacock feather ornament as she carried my mom’s old, blue, and borrowed purse warmed my heart till my eyes brimmed over. They continued to leak and stream as I witnessed the sweet interactions between her and her beloved Grady. They are such a good team. Celebrating their joy was a yummy, if damp, experience start to finish.
As they exchanged their handwritten vows, surrounded by family and friends, there was knot of young cousins, ages two to eight sitting on the grass directly in front of Megan and Grady, and looking up directly into the couple’s dewey eyes. They acknowledged those who couldn't be there. I saw through my own tears of joy, that most adult faces were wet. This was a wedding so thoughtfully choreographed as to be remembered - even by the effusive support crew who helped put it all together.
In his after-dinner toast, my husband stated that it took less time to land one man on the moon than it took to get this one couple to the altar. Laughter and resounding pounding on tables led to other similarly hilarious toasts.
Shoes came off, hair came down, dancers danced, kids ran around and “put on shows” with the wedding arbor as their back-drop.
Such a wondrous evening. Balmy, to cool, we even lucked out with the weather. Only San Francisco across the Bay was eaten by the fog.
Brunch on Sunday afforded all of us re-communion and rekindling of the joy from the night before - despite a certain level of exhaustion. Our last guest left Thursday, just a week after the festivities began.
The laundry is done, the house more-or-less back to normal, and we’re finally caught up on sleep.
We’d do it all over again in a heart beat… and maybe add in some good Salvadorian back beat to the music and dancing.
Photos may follow... later...
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