37  a woman's motives

Date: Sun, 24 Jun 2001 10:09:34 -0400
From: Melinda Bates <tangerauna@EARTHLINK.NET>
Subject: a woman's motives

Dear Robin,

Wish you would come dance with us in DC! Your perspective sounds just
right.

And if you think that "hug" is good for the leader, you should experience
what it's like to be held in the arms of someone you trust on the dance
floor. We get to close our eyes, surrender to the music and embrace, and
enter the tango zone. For me, the music of the '30s and '40s, preferrably
from a scratchy recording, makes me nostalgic for a place I have not been
and a time I did not live. But the emotions (expressed through the melody
and rhythm:) are universal from age to age. When the leader respects the
music and the floor; when he holds you with confidence; when his walk ,
posture and balance express simple elegance; when your hand reaches up to
softly touch the back of his neck; when he pauses occasionally to allow your
feet to play.... this, to me, is tango heaven.

It does not happen with every dance, but I'm not sure I want it to. A few
dances like that in an evening are enough to satisfy my soul. This is why I
dance tango.

Melinda




----- Original Message -----

Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2001 00:46:02 +0900
From: astrid <astrid@RUBY.PLALA.OR.JP>
Subject: Re: a woman's motives

Robin wrote:
i do it for the hug

Melinda wrote:

We get to close our eyes, surrender to the music and embrace, and

> enter the tango zone.

I really like both what Melinda and Robin wrote, but there is one more
thing:
When we open up to each other, and the movements suddenly take on meaning...
Tonight this happened with a guy I have known for more than half a year, and
now he is getting real good. I have never this light in eyes before, we have
been through some frustratingly formal conversations before and American
pleasantries, tonight we suddenly turned into something almost like kids
playing with each other, having total fun with each other and simply
enjoying the closeness of each other's bodies.
Tango turns us into different people or, more likely, into ourselves.

Astrid