Dancing on Railroad Tracks

Today's Thursday trip down memory lane is a little different, as we are not going to trip back to my childhood or my teens, but to my mid-twenties. A shorter trip, but sadly not by much. I am visiting relatives this week (thus the sporadic commenting - sorry!) to attend a festival in their hometown and I couldn't help reminiscing about festivals past.

Musikfest is one of my favorite festivals. I love the music and the food and the handcrafts. I love the city, full of history and warmth. I don't hate the beer. But none of those are the reasons Musikfest retains 'favorite' status among the many festivals I attend each year.

I have dated many musicians and passed time with many more. I even married one. Gave birth to a couple. But the only time I ever served as a muse was based on an afternoon at Musikfest.

It was a bright, sunny weekday in August. The air was laden with the sense of summer coming to an end and the promise of fall. We were both teachers, so we had the summer off. We spent the day at the festival. We had a couple beers - enough to dull inhibitions, but not enough to make foolish mistakes. The perfect amount.

Definitely enough to dance.

We did a mean polka at the Festplatz.

We tapped our feet and moved to some folk music at the Volksplatz.

We danced our way back to the car, twirling and swaying on the railroad tracks, fingers touching but not grasping, together but independent. It was sublime.

When I saw him the next weekend, he said he had something he wanted me to hear. He sat down behind his baby grand and started playing the most lovely melody. Delicate, intricate, free-spirited. He paused.

"It's not done yet."

"It's really pretty. What is it?"

"I think I'm going to call it Tammy Dancing on Railroad Tracks."

My hands went to my throat in a gesture that would've seemed more natural coming from the belle that I am not.

In reality, I am clumsy and awkward and prone to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I am plain of countenance and, if I'm going to be VERY generous with myself, 'sturdy' of frame.

In my mind's eye, though... in my mind's eye I am graceful and delicate and poised. I pull off a fairy-like combination of earthy and ethereal. In my mind's eye.

Apparently that's how I translate in song, too.