Dancing at the cabin

Or being the bicho raro for miles around. The cabin is based loosely on ours in Minnesota where Evans spent a night – rural land, beautiful view, flush plumbing, and a 4-car garage where his mini _________’s will have a home. It has a tall wall and locked gate – the compound necessity here and landscaping to die for as in their Nakuru home. Evans is a naturally gifted landscape architect – like my dad. He has installed a swing set for the area kids who can come in the compound when he's there. He left the car music on and who can resist the African beat? After awhile all the swingers turned around and applauded my efforts! (Evans had something to do with that) and we were all dancing together. Unfortunately in the pictures it comes across as my teaching them the chicken dance for a Scandinavian anniversary party! On the second visit in addition to the children there were women who quickly multiplied in number. Silly me thought they were watching their kids have a good time, a little outing in the park. No, they were waiting for the white people who dance! Dancing for/with the kids on the patio wasn’t enough – I danced for/with the ladies in the driveway. Maybe they were “shy” but “for” turned into “with” soon enough. My travelling motto gets lots of practical experience: Don’t mind making a fool of yourself. Have fun – don’t be self-conscious. June 14th