Thanksgiving last year was much different than this year. Last year I witnessed a hungry hunter skin and slice up three caribou outside my back door.
This year we played charades and ate too much turkey. Life is getting a little easier for me (in some areas).
Friday night, Kylie, Nicole and I go to the Search and Rescue fund raiser dance. Dressed in sweatshirts and leggings, we arrived a little after 9pm and join the rest of the community. We sit around in a circle in the commons area of the school listening to the band and watching the dancers in the center. The lights were dim, but I saw faces I recognized. Little Gabriel with nothing on but saggy diaper smiles at me. Margie, in her kusbuq and long french braid, dances the two-step with her husband in the center. Tiny waves at me as a gust of cold air comes through the door with her, mixing with the popcorn smell from the concession booth. Wolfe's little friend, Hannah sits in front of me with bare feet, a soda, and peanut M&Ms.
Yep, everyone, old and young are here. And they will be here until midnight.
The band has a country style to it. Playing songs I know, like from Johnny Cash and Elvis. Then they play tunes I don't recognize and words I can't understand. Songs are played for birthdays, anniversaries, and for people who put an extra ten dollars in the the guitar case. I guess this is what a typical town dance would be like.
Then I get asked to dance. Kylie warned me the elders might. Ben said it was alright if they were older than 60. This guy was. His name was Randell Chuk. He was short. He nodded a lot, with a cap like the one Ben still has from his earlier tee ball games. His glasses are thick, and eye brows thicker. And I'm not sure what he is saying as I try to tell him I don't dance well. Well, I showed him. I bumped into, stepped on, and elbowed everybody else on the dance floor. He finally told me to loosen up and follow him. Then it was fun. I am pretty sure I had the steps down for the last twenty seconds of the song. That gave me enough confidence to go out and do a shuffle and twist on my own. And even enough confidence to say yes to the next elder who asked me to be their partner!
This time it was Mike. He was around 70 years, tall, no teeth, and a legend. He is known around town for competing in the Iditarod. Yes, he was a musher who led his dogs in a world famous, 1000 mile race.
He had been dancing all night and probably got the courage to finally ask me once he saw my skill with that other old guy. I thought I did well. I only bumped into a couple twice (It was really not my fault either. Both times it was into Mother and Father. They were going much too fast.) I had such a great time, that when the song ended, I clapped and said, "Oh that was fun!", to which he nodded and said, "good enough".
I didn't take offense. I'd choose a dance party over a blood bath Thanksgiving any day.
