do-it-yourself dentistry

For the past two nights I have had the exact same dream:
In the dream, I am the CEO of a very lucrative business called “Do-It-Yourself Dentistry” where subscribers pay $30 a month to learn how to fix their own teeth so that they never have to go to the dentist again.
They receive dental instruments in the mail the first of each month as well as instructional videos every Monday teaching them how to hold a mirror in one hand, while scraping away tarter build-up in the other.

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Holy Moly

My jaw is on the floor.


The response from last week’s survey was amazing:


I received emails from Colorado, California, The Pacific Northwest, Minnesota, Montreal, New York City, Connecticut, and Tennessee.


Nice job dancing queens!


I have enough material from all of you to read and consider your thoughts on dancing for many months.


With intimacy and honesty, you shared hopes, fears, delights, and struggles in regards to living this dancing life.


Thank you for that.

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Are you Feral?

Last week, a friend called me feral.

After we parted ways, she immediately sent an email explaining that when she said feral, she meant it in the “nicest possible fuzzy creature kind of way”, and she hoped I hadn’t taken offense at her remark.

No offense was taken.

A few months back, someone asked me where I teach.

I described the location, which is on the edge of town, in the last rural section of the city.

She said:  “Oh, you mean out in the fields?  That’s perfect for you!  That’s exactly where you belong.”

No offense taken there either, although I have no idea what she meant by that statement.

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Middle Age

“Who you actually are, and who you think you are suppose to be — THE GAP BETWEEN THOSE TWO THINGS— that’s where disappointment and bitterness live”.

I heard someone say this, I don’t know who, on the radio as I was driving home last Saturday night.

In fits and starts, with grunts of pain and howls of uncertainty, this gap is starting to close.

It’s getting smaller, every single day.

I think that’s what happens when one becomes “middle aged.”

Besides the fact that:

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The Anatomy of Improvisation, #4

The Hamsters Are Back

When my nephew was in 6th grade, he asked his teacher about the constant whirring sound he was hearing in the ceiling above the classroom.


His teacher said, with a wink, that it was the hamsters, who lived in the ceiling of the school, running and running and running, in their little hamster wheels, to keep the lights on in the classroom.


My nephew missed the wink.

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