So I’m supposed to write my words today as well, but I am out of time and haven’t pulled an exercise together, so for now, I’m declaring that plain old blogging about my day, as long as I share a few interesting insights, should count.

The Mediterranean festival was a huge crush of people. There were far more attendees that I have ever seen there, and the church volunteers weren’t really prepared for it, poor things. The air was absolutely steamy with sweat and humidity. The main stage at the entrance had heavy base, and played Mediterranean dance music all night. It was an almost irresistible draw for me, and my friend Zanj and I spent much of the evening dancing in our chairs. The good news was that after a series of long lines, we did manage to find said chairs. There was the line to get in, the line for the food tickets, the line for the wine after we had the food tickets, the line for the food after we had wine. Wow. We got a few nibbles and sat down, and the focus turned to fine conversation over the rumpled tablecloths. The festival had long rows of folding tables lined up end to end, in classic church dinner fashion. Appropriate I guess, given that the whole amazing event is a benefit for St. Elias orthodox church, and has been for the past 75 years.

After a few hours the crowds began to thin out, and having finished our bottle of wine, we made for the dance floor. Zanj and I hopped and shimmied like madwomen while our other girlfriend sat in the front row and watched the little girls spin and twirl and stomp their feet. Unfortunately we caught the dancing when the band was on break, but everyone was still caught up in the piped in songs. What is it about dancing in the street that is so liberating?