Highland Dancing is in Danger of Extinction

February 6th, 2006

Okay - well not today or even this year or perhaps even this decade, but trust me as I report the following. After centuries (that was not a misprint) of Highland Dancing events during which dancers have competed for medals, trophies and other prizes, we are seeing a serious delcine in the numbers of ‘Dancing’ entrants. So much so, that during the past few years several of our scheduled events have had to be cancelled or combined with other events in order to pull them off. Dancers are not showing up. They are not showing up for a number of reasons, such as other activities which have lured these hard-working athletes out of their Highland kilts and into their soccer shorts. From the intricate exactitude of a Sword Dance to the precision movements of a Karate match. From the grace and beauty of the Sean Tribuhas to the grace and beauty of the ice-skating rink. From the exhilaration of standing on the platform to receive a trophy for excellence to simply cheering from the sidelines for others who excel. In short our dancers have more choices and they are making them. Parents are coping with higher gas prices and increasing costs for hotel rooms and entrance fees, whereas often some of the alternatives are free, or seem to be free at first galnce, that is until parents receive the bills for Cheer-leading uniforms, soccer camps and workshops, travel, solicitied donations, etc.)

Highland Dancing is at least as old as the hills; if not as old as the Heather on the Hills. Oral tradition traces the Highland Games to before the dawn of Christianity. Of course, at that time, the ‘games’ were really families of ‘clans’ getting together to see who could be the most promising warrior. The caber toss, the stone-throw and the hammer toss were tests of athletics and ‘warrior-like’ skill. Dancing was added later when the games became actual sporting events. We know that the games existed during the reign of King Malcolm III (1058-1093) along the river Dee on a flat meadowland called the Brae O’Mar, and continued to be held throughout Scotland until 1746 when the Act of Proscription banned ‘playing of the bagpipe, wearing of the kilt, gathering together of the people, and the carrying of arms under the penalty of deportation or death.’ The English wanted to be sure those troublesome Scots did not demand equal rights or cause other trouble. After the latter part of the 18th century, Highland Societies began forming again and eventaully the Gathering of the Clans was a regular event not only in Scotland, but throughout the western world. The first Highland Games in the United States were organized by the Highland Society of New York in the mid 1800s. Since then dancers have been attending and competing as regularly as they once were for reasons I mentioned at the beginning of this tirade.

“SO WHAT!” you may exclaim when I am not looking at you. What do we care! You may mutter under your breath. Well the answer is you may not give a hoot at all. But just think of the cultrual dimensions for a moment. We really do not want to lose our connection to such an ancient culture do we? I mean after all, before the age of Christianity? That is a long time to still be enjoying a tradition which is obviously steeped in history and pregnant with pomp and circumstance. In my humble opinion we need more of this kind of event to center ourselves and to illuminate our own place in history to looking at what came before. Okay- this was a long rant and I don’t apologize. Bottom line fore now: WE NEED MORE HIGHLAND DANCERS!

I am personally pursuing a cause. That is to brng Highland Dancing back to the forefront and to encourage those of you who don’t care, to care. Why not sign up for a lesson this month? Try it out; go toa Scottich Event such as Queen Mary Scottish Festival which is coming up on February 18 and 19, 2006. Enjoy our dancers, the many different and varied Highland Bagpipe Bands and the crafts, gifts and food which will transport ou to another time. Try it! You may like it!

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AMERICAN LIE-DOL

March 9th, 2006

Okay - I know everybody loves it, I kind of like it also; although, until this season, I had never watched a complete episode. However, even before I actually watched it, there was absolutely no way I could avoid hearing about it. It is a big program, a huge hit, and especially good at drawing you in to find out what happens. Like a good book - drawing you in, turning the pages because you can’t wait to see happens next. Well, okay - NOT like a good book, not even close with all those commercials, but you get the idea here. The big problem I have with this program is that it is supposed to be a reality program. Reality meaning in my uneducated opinion, real. However, in actuality, the American Idol program is anything but real; in fact it is completely false. It is glitchy and theatrical, semi-believable, but mostly unreal, pretentious and affected. Phony to the bone, it is American Lie-dol and a big fat one at that.

Okay - now that I have presented what some may feel is an arrogant observation about American’s No.1 TV program, I guess I am going to have to back up my position. Here are three reasons for my belief that this program is an obvious ‘liar, liar, pants on fire’ type of program.

1. All contestants must possess some kind of ‘canned’ sound that the panel is looking for; a sound that is pretty solidly guaranteed to translate into mega- concert and recording bucks. And fast! A pre-determined sound will be exactly what the ‘judges’ are looking for and they will accomplish their self-fulfilling prophesies by continually cajoling and slyly limiting the genuinely talented youngsters who show up, by urging them to sing something ‘more for your age’, ‘what is on the radio’ and discouraging them from singing what they like to sing or what I (and I suspect others) might like to hear. The ‘panel’ wants homogenized talent, nothing too radical, not too theatrical; not overly showy and definitely not …and this is the worst of all not…not…’Broadway!’ Eeeuuuu, ugh, yuk. (But wait - what is wrong with Broadway…I just don’t get this part.) The lie? What the panel is really looking for has already been decided, no surprises, please, the sponsors and potential record-producers are already in the money-changing room caressing their soon-to-be-bankable cash, only because they adhere to a strict and unbendable formula. Do you really think that these people are interested in upsetting the apple cart by inserting reality into the mix?

2. Originality and inventiveness are discouraged, except during the audition, this little bit of unreality tricks the audience into believing that a ‘regular guy’ or ‘gal’ can win this so-called contest. While Paula and Randy may gush about the unbelievable talent of the frightened auditioned during the initial exposure; after the auditioned has ‘made it’ with a ticket to Hollywood, things quickly change and the ‘judges’ discourage any attempt to ‘sound’ too obviously different from any other mainstream performer who has made it big, or to sing something they simply enjoy singing.

3. “This is a serious competition,” Simon Cowell may say with a perfectly straight face, “and you should be aware that your performance tonight was incredibly mediocre and not up to the standards of this competition.” The lie? This program is really all about failing. Exactly twenty two of the original twenty-four will fail. This of course, not counting the hundreds who showed up to fail in the auditions, which some may believe is the most ‘real’ and ‘entertaining’ part of this program. Simon’s put-down is mostly contrived in order to produce what I call ‘cringe’ ratings, which is does quite admirably…in short, it is working. Cringe being what your face does while watching another suffer a remarkable and somehow unsettling insult.

In addition to the above, all contestants smile widely after being insulted. Is this possible? I wonder if you or I would smile that widely after being told we were mediocre - not good enough for this ‘important’ competition, not singing our best, not delivering, not connecting, and in fact, not even dressing correctly. But instead of being sad, there are more smiles and even more smiles while the camera pans to mom and dad who are both smiling bravely, while sobbing uncontrollably. More smiles while I am told I ‘rather stink’. You are asked why you had the sheer audacity to even show up and furthermore, who’s your daddy? Why are you here? No ticket to Hollywood for us! Still, there are dozens more tear-stained smiles until the camera finally and mercifully fades to the strange little man who explains that it is time for a commercial. (Is THAT his talent?} The lie? Smiles are for happy people, and these people are NOT happy - smiles or no smiles.

There existed at one time, variety shows and talent contests on television that were open and available to all contestants who applied and auditioned. Most made it on - even those with imperfections of hair, teeth, dress, and manicures, including the tongue-tied who were embarrassingly devoid of any poise or the ability to be completely relaxed while appearing on national TV. Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour comes to mind. Sunday evenings at about 7:00 PM, later Arthur Godfrey, and still later, a host of others. A parade of contestants would appear each week, some with extremely (by today’s standards) dubious talents, ready to perform for the American television audience. It wasn’t until the Gong Show that things got both warmed up and down and dirty and mean and nasty. Of course, this caught on! Americans discovered something new. It was fun to insult and ridicule people who didn’t measure up. Let’s have a little more of that!

A hog farmer from Idaho would play the spoons. That was his talent! By holding two spoons in each hand and clacking them against each other and then against various parts of his body while maintaining intricate rhythms, he managed to be both entertaining and real. When he was finished, and received the audience’s polite applause, he would smile. He may have had have gaps in his teeth large enough to drive a Mac truck through, but his smile, so full of holes, was genuine. It was real! It was not a lie. When the audience applauded, it was real because people were not rude and ill-behaved at least in a public forum. They hadn’t learned how to do that yet.

A housewife from Michigan would sing Puccini’s aria ‘o mio babbino caro’ from Puccini’s Madama Butterfly, a barber from Macon, Georgia would ride a unicycle while juggling three bowling pins and whistling “I Wish I Were in Dixie”. Twin brothers from Santa Monica, California would tap dance on a three foot square platform 15 feet in the air; an acrobat would twist herself into a spine-defying pretzel accompanied by background music from “Here to Eternity.” (Precursors to Cirque de Soleil?). After each act, polite and occasionally rambunctious applause would ensue. The contestants were happy; the audience was happy, genuinely happy, not faked at all. A group of young men would sing intricate four-part harmonies, and play their own musical instruments with virtuosic ability - saxophone, cornet, trombone and drums. No - wait - that was the Four Freshman, they were/are great! But they DID get their start during a variety show/contest in Detroit, Michigan.

Frank Sinatra appeared on the Ted Mack amateur hour and lost. This brings me by way of this rather torturous route to my main point. Like a buried seed contemplating the odds of bursting through a cement driveway, real talent will fight its way to the surface, breath the fresh air and defy all naysayers by blossoming prettily. Thank goodness, because here is my short list of those whom I believe would never have made it past the first audition on American Idol. What losses the world would suffer if Randy, Paula and Simon had been on the ‘panel’ to ‘judge’ these talents. Thank goodness these legends persisted, defied the odds and blossomed so prettily and for such a long, long, time.

Jimmy Durante (can’t carry a tune), Steve and Eydie Gorme (too married - not good for the single fans), Bobby Darin (those heart problems will keep him from realizing his full potential), Rosemary Clooney (too fat), Peggy Lee (sings too softly - no vocal acrobatics), The Four Aces (religious guys?), Judy Garland (Rainbows? You’ve got to be kidding me), Ethyl Merman (too Broadway), Joe Cocker (just too weird), The Rolling Stones (too raucous and noisy and nasty), Madonna (Like a Virgin? Yeah, Right!), Perry Como, Nat “King” Cole (too mellow), Sammy Davis Jr. (too versatile, unfocused), Elvis Presley (too sweet and unassuming, too shy, can only play four chords), the Beatles (too English, may compete with Simon Cowell, Les Paul and Mary Ford (not exciting enough) and finally, on my very short list, Luciano Pavorratti (don’t understand what he is singing about).

But the number one reason these people would not have made it on American Idol?

They were REAL! They were REAL and REALLY talented and they worked hard to get ahead. They worked their way up the ladder, they paid their dues, and they performed their hearts out. They made records and HOPED they would sell. Somebody took a chance on them. They brought us so much happiness and joy over many decades that a lot of you will recognize their names, even though you may not know what they did or when they did it. I wonder how many of the current ‘contestants’ will be remembered two, three decades from now? Real talent endures like nothing else. I am not suggesting that the competitors on American Idol do not have talent; in fact, many of them are extremely talented! But, to surrender their career prospects into the six hands of the American Idol Panel is tantamount to leaving it in the ham-fisted palms beer-guzzling couch potatoes or teens with cell phones. Oh, I forgot, that IS where the decision is left!

It is all a little scary.

Hey – it’s only my opinion and I’m the one with the Newsletter/BLOG. Please register and respond I would love to hear your thoughts on this or anything else you want to talk about.

Joy MacKinnon

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LOSS

April 7th, 2006

 


   It may seem a little strange to write about the loss of my dad and my dog at the same time, especially since my dad died three years ago; and I lost my little dog two weeks ago. Nevertheless, the reason will soon become apparent.

My dad was ninety-two years old on July 3 of 2003, when he died after a short illness. He had lived a vibrant and mostly happy life during which he was an amazing role-model and provider. He was dearly loved and he was generous and loving also. My dad had a great sense of fun which often surfaced at unexpected times. I particularly remember one incident where he and I had taken my grandsons, Jeremiah and Luke to Knott’s Berry Farm when they were five and six years old.  That would have been about twenty years ago.  Although my dad was already in his seventies, he rode all of the rides with the boys and had as much (or more) fun than they did.  I remember seeing them on the downhill leg of the roller-coaster - the boys hanging on for dear life, while my dad had his hands in the air above his head. His tumbled mass of beautiful white hair defying gravity; caught in the updraft like a gossamer cloud. Even today I get a catch in my throat when this memory surfaces; an image suspended in time.

Each year on October 5, his birthday, my dad performed the Irish Jig as a kind of ritual or yearly rite of passage.  If you were lucky enough to be around on his birthday, you got to witness this event. As he grew older, the steps he performed were fewer and less physical, but he always performed them without fail. I used to worry that he would have heart failure during one of these exhibitions, but he persisted with determination. He was never really infirm until his last year.  Finally, though, and inevitably, my dad passed on and the loss was pretty much unbearable.  I miss him each and every day, but I also thank him for being who he was and for guiding his children not by dictatorial decree but, instead, by alert listening; offering advice only when and if it was solicited. Not demanding perfection, nor expecting his input to be the final word, my dad was unusual in that respect. He respected my brother and me as people and trusted us to make our own decisions, right or wrong. And we did. And we were both right and wrong many times. My dad never thought that there was anything we could not accomplish if we really wanted to. By the same token, he was a compassionate and thinking person who knew that some people are less fortunate than others and a decent society takes this fact into consideration and assists in some way. Thanks for that dad. Thanks for everything.

Daisy was my beloved pet and friend. A fluffy ball of snow-white and grey Shih-Tzu, she was only six weeks old when I brought her home where she cried for several nights about  being separated from her mom and siblings. From the first day I got Daisy, thirteen years ago, we were best friends. She was always there for me and for the other members of my family. She was a frolicking, happy, silly, little performer who could ‘dance’ for her treats; skate across a tile floor, and unable to gain traction she would often crash sidelong into the kitchen cupboards. She would run and hide under the bed when she saw the inevitable dog brush, snap at the groomer when she got her toenails clipped and guard our family with intensity much beyond that which she could realistically provide. Daisy was a member of my family as much as any other relatives could be. She was precious and loved and as my grandson Cody once said when he was only three, ‘Daisy is a really nice person.”

Two weeks ago during a Sunday morning outing, my little dog was viciously attacked by an unleashed pit bull and killed while we were in the neighborhood park. This was without a doubt, the most traumatic and troubling incident I have experienced in recent years. My little friend never had a chance. A good Samaritan wrapped her in a blanket and transported us to the animal hospital. But though she tried bravely, she could not hold up against the ferocity of the attack and she died on the way to the Pet Emergency Clinic. My grief was so overwhelming that I was unable to come to work for a few days. To lose my little friend by such a violent and horrific episode was beyond my ability to comprehend.

Then, a couple of nights ago, something happened.  I had a dream about my little dog and my dad.  They were both in a small clearing in a beautiful green forest. A stand of trees circled the clearing and the sun was shining radiantly through the leaves. They were illuminated by a golden glow which settled on each of their heads of snow white hair like halos. And in this clearing, they were dancing! Daisy was dancing for her treats; my dad was dancing for his annual birthday ritual.  I quietly watched them frolicking in their afterlife and gradually began to feel a great sense of peace and renewal. Then, just before I woke, an outlaw breeze wafted through the clearing, rustling the trees and stirring up mischievous little whirlwinds of spring leaves. This breeze embraced the images of my dad and of Daisy; playfully teasing and lifting rogue tendrils of their white hair; freeze-framing this image into a beautiful and joyful portrait. Upon awakening, the dream lingered with me, as if to remind me that although I had lost them, they would never be completely gone. I would have the memories of love, the recollections of playful times, and the suspended-in-air snapshots of this enchanted reverie. The little breeze that wafted in to gently lift wisps of their hair lifted my spirits as well. I will never forget nor fail to wonder at the remarkable gift of this very special dream.

 Life, though certainly tentative, offers us so much possibility, and seemingly endless choices. We should not forget to live. Just going through the motions may not be enough in the long-run. Perhaps we should all take a few more chances on something or someone. Perhaps we should take a moment to check out the heart-stopping beauty of sun shining through leaves. Stop for a moment or two to dance in a clearing. One has to hold one’s head up to accomplish these things. Loss is a trial, and some things seem too difficult to bear. Still, cherished memories of loved ones and photographs frozen in time, waiting for just the right time to surface, help us endure and to turn ourselves once again toward tomorrow.

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DANCE IS FOR ALL

September 11th, 2006

The child was born prematurely, and suffered a stroke on the left side of her brain. This complication from birth affected the right side of the little girl’s body in a profound and dramatic way. Mom had a condition in pregnancy characterized by abrupt hypertension (a sharp rise in blood pressure), albuminuria, or leakage of large amounts of the protein albumin into the urine, and edema (swelling) of the hands feet and face. This is known as pre-eclampsia and is the most common complication of pregnancy. The result was that the child was under a great deal of in-utero stress leading to an early delivery early by induced labor. Right after delivery the baby was moved to Ventura County Hospital where she remained for about a week and a half suffering loss of the ability to breath for intermittent periods. She began having seizures and her right hand became a fist, which she was unable to open. Finally, she was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy, which is an abnormality of motor function that is usually acquired at less than a year of age. The pediatric physician delivered the grim news: “We don’t know if she will walk or even talk”.  The tests continued and confirmed that the infant had ‘hemiplegia’; paralysis of one side of the body, in this case, the right side.
  The child began both physical and occupational therapy to learn to use her right side and to further develop the physical attributes she already possessed.  But this is not a sad story, quite the contrary. Marissa Soto has been attending dance classes since she was 2-1/2 yrs old, here at MacKinnon’s.
 She appeared in her first recital in 1997, a mere 8 months after she began her first dancing lesson. Her devoted parents are dedicated to Marissa’s future; and they have endured hardships that for other may have been too much to bear.
 Marissa’s mother, Araceli Soto, has told us that these dance classes have provided Marissa with the confidence and self-esteem she possesses today. The regular instruction has also propelled her forward to meet her challenges with fierce determination. The stretching and conditioning that goes on in dance class keeps her muscles flexible and working beyond what might be expected if she did not participate in this activity.
 Marissa’s progress cannot be measured by her dance achievements alone, but also by the continued support and love of her family and many friends.
 We are proud of Marissa, of her family and equally proud of our other parents who have all chosen MacKinnon Dance Academy as a safe and nurturing school for their children
  In spite of Marissa’s physical challenges, it would be difficult if not impossible to pick her out of a group of dancers because of these challenges. Her abilities have surpassed even what we all wished for her. We can see that she will continue to improve as much as she strives to improve. Of course, this is the same for all dancers or for anyone who really wants to succeed at anything. Congratulations to ‘dance class’ once again for proving our point. It is not ALL ABOUT DANCE, but also about dozens of additional and enhancing life skills as well.   

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