That was my conclusion a month or two ago when a swing dancing instructor remarked that we could use more space. Indeed, I had become so concerned by the Hope of the Future crashing into stacks of chairs that I had already begun to ask the gentlemen to move them into smaller half of the hall, closer to the tea table. But I then made enquiries about the parish hall of a Protestant ex-church down the street, went to see it, realized that it was practically perfect, and then was crushed by the price.
But when RSVPs (hooray!) came marching in for the January Dance, I rolled up my sleeves and attempted to haggle with the ex-church hall owners. They patiently repeated their initial offer, dependent on me making a number of reservations in advance, and I took it. Catering, they wrote, could be arranged at an additional fee. Catering, I wrote, would not be necessary.
Fortunately, one of the Hopes of the Future has a car and was willing to transport 27 china cups and saucers, a teapot, spoons, paper cups, a 2-L coffee thermos, a cookie tin, a tablecloth, lemon squash, coffee, tea, milk, sugar, a tablecloth and two tea towels from the McLean home to the hall. And, delightfully, another of the Hopes brought his electric piano, having offered some time ago to provide live accompaniment.
So much could have gone wrong, and in fact something did: the street door locked at some point, shutting out three latecomers from Fife. Not being familiar with the quirks of this door, absorbed in teaching the waltzing lesson, and having been told the young ladies had gone somewhere for lunch, I didn't discover their plight until I checked my phone for potential messages. By then they were on the bus home--and no wonder as the weather was frightful.
As it happens, I was lucky I didn't lose more people on the way, as not everyone had read the memos about the new hall or were exactly sure where it was. And this reminds me of something else you need when you are restoring Western Civilization: a committee, and not just for big events.
On this committee should be a driver of china sets, of course, but also someone to round up guests from Old Place A and lead them to New Place B. You may think you can do everything yourself, but if you have worked a 44 hour week (including Saturday), prepared After-Mass Tea & Coffee for 35+ people, and are beset with domestic cares, you probably can't. And you must plan for this long before your Civilization-restoring endeavour, for on the day of, you will be suffering from task overload.
"Where is Maria-from-London?"
"She left."
"Did anyone go with her?"
Long pause.
"She seemed to know where she was going."
Incidentally, I also lost three guests to illness, and one was MIA. Their places were partly filled by one Sunday morning RSVP and Maria who was visiting from London. (She believed she could come along to the party after Mass, and she was correct for she is a girl and another girl vouched for her. And if a Kind Friend should send this to her, she should get in touch via our chaplains so I know she got home okay.) Thus, for the waltz part of the party, we had 11 men (one on the electric piano) to 9 woman (one teaching). When one of the men made his farewells at the break, we had 10 men to 9 women for the swing-dancing: an almost perfect ratio.
At first I felt daunted by the large hall. Our hall, denuded of tables and chairs, feels like an extension of my home. For one thing, I know where everything is. With the new hall, we had a hard time finding an electrical socket for the piano. In fact, the big room didn't seem to have one. Fortunately, the pianist had brought an extension cable.
But while reviewing the "closed change" (in which the dancers move forward directly instead of turning), I was thrilled when everyone came dancing down the long wooden floor toward me to the music of our talented musician. And I was delighted when I saw the nine couples dancing out the Lindy Hop in a big circle, with the two instructors dancing in the middle. Renting the new hall was worth it.
In fact, it was definitely worth it, for I swallowed my pride and put out a donations box. The Hope of the Future more than covered the difference between the cost of the parish hall and the cost of the new hall. It occurs to me that if I drop down dead, they will want to, and be able to, keep the waltzing parties going themselves. The thought makes me very happy.
Perhaps that's how endeavours naturally progress? You have an idea, and enough people are attracted to the idea to take part. Then they tell you what they think of their experience, and you make alterations. After a while, you introduce new elements as experimental improvements. If they work, you keep them. If they don't, you put them aside. When you need volunteers, you ask for them. If volunteers appear, you are on the right path. And then, if you really do need donations, you ask for them too. And if you get donations, it's full speed ahead.
By the way, one of the most delightful moments of the party came right at the end when our musician was improvising a piano accompaniment to a jazz recording and two of our most talented Hopes were swing-dancing with the teachers. I am very much looking forward to our Eastertide Dance, when teaching will be minimal and such spontaneity maximal.
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