Nearly 20 years ago, we took a family ski vacation to Mount Crested Butte, Colorado. The base of the resort sits at an elevation of 9,898 feet above mean sea level with a summit of 12,162 feet. The Dancing Doc ended up with severe altitude sickness including pulmonary edema and life threatening hypoxemia (his pulse oxygen saturation dropped to 50%). We evacuated the mountain by ambulance and flew home with Pat on oxygen. He was fine once we got back home. Although Atlanta boasts the highest altitude
Dancers shout merde at each other all the time. Beautifully coifed women in Swarovski crystal laden gowns and dapper men in suits and tails shouting merde at one another around the ballroom seems odd, but it’s how we say good luck. The custom is rooted in NEVER saying good luck to performers because silly superstition dictates that to do so actually causes bad luck. One says break a leg to thespians, musicians and singers, but obviously
It’s been a while since I’ve posted a personal essay. It’s not a question of inspiration. I simply haven’t had the time to compose anything blog-worthy. Here’s why.
On November 28, 2016, The Dancing Doc and I officially announced our decision to stop dancing pro-am in order to focus exclusively on our amateur partnership. [Related post: The Story of the Dancing Housewife