May the leprechauns dance over your bed and bring you sweet dreams. - Irish lessing

To this day, across much of the Western Isle, the lore of fairies remains so strong, farmers will divert crops, homebuilders will adjust property lines, hikers will swing wide of their treks and the burliest and beardiest of men dare not trifle with the environmental curiosity known as, the fairy ring, a.k.a. fairy fort. In Irish, they are called lios or raths and at the end of the 20th Century, there stood, it was believed, some 40,000 fairy rings spotting the Irish countryside. Archaeologists believe the oldest of date to c. 600 BCE. These earthen mounds, sometimes notable only as remaining stone-circles or ancient, circular impressions around raised soil, are generally believed to be the evidence of pre- and early-Celtic dwellings: from the late-Iron Age to the beginnings of Irealand's Christian Era, c. 5th Century CE.

The Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fir Bolg, Ireland's earliest inhabitants of Ireland, were thought to possess mythical abilities and kept supernatural congress with banshees, leprechauns and fairies. These mythics considered fairy rings, also known collectively as tumuli, to be not only domains of the fairies, but portals to the supernatural world. It also remains a claim that fairy forts are where, if you dare, you might seek to find a leprechaun's gold. Repercussions of disturbing a fairy fort, even plucking a flower or cutting or brush within its bounds range from general maladies and acute melancholia to freak accidents and even death. However, curses present themselves in many forms. Of the more deceptive and heinous is "The Dance": Any human who dares to enter a fairy ring or fairy fort, thus disturbing it, must "dance with the fairies until they go mad or perish with exhaustion". Well now, I must have dared to enter a fairy ring, if not on my most recent holiday on the Isle, perchance in a past life, because I am exhausted ... and loving it. If going mad is for you, follow me into the fairy ring and keep reading.

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As with so many things Irish, The Dance has a long history, largely emanating from the Celts and Druids. Pagan entities, dating a good millennium before the entrenchment of Christianity on the Isle, focused their religious ceremonies on the natural world; this included dances-in-the-round and, often, around trees: symbols of life and vitality. Initially, accompanying music was that of the earliest forms: drum and song. The pinnacle of these ceremonies was Aonach, or Óenach: originally (c. 3,200 BCE) a congregation of Ireland's kings, called by the High King, usually to commemorate a notable death in the community. High King Lugh held the first of these ceremonies, to commemorate the death of his mother, Tailtiu, after, legend tells, she died from exhaustion, on August 1st, whilst clearing the family land for farming. This funerary event, held at the sacred Hill of Tara - seat of the High King - in County Meath, just north of Dublin, became an annual tradition, later known as Óenach Tailten and was celebrated about the same time each year: the last fortnight of July through the first fortnight of August. Eventually, this commemoration of death became a celebration of life, known as the Celtic festival of Lughnasadh: from the old Gaelic meaning "assembly of Lugh".

Lughnasadh transformed and extended over the years into four, cross-quarter festivals: (Imbolc: the beginning of Spring; Bealtaine: the beginning of Summer; Óenach Tailten, or Lughnasadh-proper: the OG of Celtic festivals, halfway-mark between Summer and Autumn solstices, and the beginning of Harvest season; and, finally, Samhain: the beginning of Winter). In a rough and dark existence, these gatherings of song, dance, feast, drink, trading, truces, dispute-settlements, sport, games and hook-ups, attended by folks from across all the land, were exciting diversions to plan and anticipate throghout the year, kind of like Comic-Con and WonderCon today. Millennia later, these festivals would give way to today's Irish Dance competitions, known as feis However, the feis of today, dotting small towns and metropoli across the globe, are dedicated to the competition of dance and song, with the added cheer and communion of hanging with old friends and new.     

As for the fairies? They've been there all along, dancing around trees in magical circles with the Druids and Celts, flitting and mischief-making along seaside cliffs and grass mounds of Samhain and Lughnasadh festivals, and treble-hopping and leaping in ballrooms and convention centers from Orange County to Dublin at modern feis. All mad, too, I tell you. All mad from the fairies' curse.

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After all that, What is Irish Dance, JennyPop? you might wonder. Well, what it's not, is clogging, but it has elements; it's not tap, but it has elements; it's not square dancing; but it has elements; it's not ballet, but ... yep. What it is, like the Irish themselves, is an amalgam of peoples continually contributing to the Emerald Isle's continual, cultural evolution: Celts, Gauls, Vikings, Normans, English, Romans, Silicon Valley developers. Irish Dance is a combination of ballet and tap dancing. Although, it can be said that tap dancing originated from Irish flat down dance technique.

The neolithic Celts and Druids danced for religion. The Christians settled in and borrowed bits of pagan dance, changing flowers and fairies to penance and Jesus, but continued to incorporate dance into ceremonies; and Irish monks, the smarty-smarts of the day, notated much of this in illustrated manuscripts, like The Book of Kells. If you observe carefully the motifs and decoration on modern, Irish dancers' dresses, you'll see the borrowed imagery of Medieval manuscripts. During the 10thC, as was their wont, Viking raiders invaded and burned the fuck-all out of most of Ireland's books and manuscripts. As the Irish are wont to do, they overcame this adversity by keeping their traditions alive via song and dance, and drink, to be sure. After a harsh raid, who doesn't want a bit of whiskey or mead?

As Ireland slowly recovered from the Viking Era, mainly by living amongst their invaders as generations meandered on (much like this post), Nordic infusions gained a hold in Irish culture and the mons went back to documenting Medeival life. Of course, it wouldn't be Ireland without more uninvited guests. In the 1thC., the Normans crossed the Irish Sea, kicked in the door and kicked up their heels. Unlike the Vikings and their metaphorical vineagar, the Normans used honey, proffering land grants and pretty English girls to the tribal Kings, and soon speckled the landscape with magnificent castles, keeps and fortresses. Within a generation, the Normans introduced their customs, including dance, into Irish culture. One such introduction was the "carol": a circular dance wherein the dancers "follow" the voice a solo siger, standing in the middle of the circle. Over the coming centuries, the carol would evolve into three, altogether new dances: the Irish Hey, the Riinca Fada (a.k.a. the Long Dance, featuring a long line of dancers) and the Trenchmore. These were no longer circle dances, but line-dances and they became all the rage by the 17thC.. Simple songs and bodhrans (a goatskin drum played with, essentially, a single drumstick, called a tipper) grew into great accompaniments with tin whistles, concertinas and the Irish bagpipes (a.k.a. uilleann pipes). Witness, the beginning of true craic.

 pic - Irish dance graphic

A Brief (for JennyPop) Note on the types of Irish dance

Traditional Irish Step Dancing : only the legs and feet move in Flat Down technique male and female dancers in long lines, circles, squares or as partnered reels. Traditional Iris Step Dancing consists of dances set to traditional Irish music with a fast tempo 

Modern Irish Step Dancing : full body movement with Ballet Up technique female dancers performing ballet up dance movements like leg swings, hopping and jumping or sashaying to the music. The female dancers perform in soft ghillies

Irish Set Dancing : with Flat Down technique

whole choreographed dance performance that is broken up into several separate parts. The set usually requires dancing in couples in four sets.

The Set Dance begins with all four couples dancing to the same choreography. This is followed by each couple performing the same sets as individual couples.

Irish Ceili Dancing : with Ballet Up technique very traditional dance form. It originated in the 1500's and is always performed to traditional Irish music. The Ceili Dances consist of quadrilles, reels, jigs and long or round dances. These were the most native Irish traditional folk dances.

Irish Sean Nós Dancing : with Flat Down technique

one of the oldest of the traditional Irish dance styles. It is the only one performed as a solo. It differs from other Irish dances in that it allows free movement of the arms and it is flat down with the heavy weight on the accented beat of the music.

Sean Nos Dancing is the only Irish dance that also allows the solo dancer to improvise the choreography simultaneously as the dance is performed. The taps consist of shuffles and brushes as the dancer moves across the floor.

Irish Two Hand Dancing : with Flat Down technique

Irish socializing. It is performed much like Irish Set Dancing with the exception that is it danced to polkas, Irish hornpipes, waltzes and jigs. Like the Irish Set Dancing, it is performed by couples with specific choreographic dance patterns, although in Irish Two Hand Dancing the patterns are repeated.

In Irish Two Hand Dancing couples dance in a relaxed style

*Flat Down technique refers to

Flat Down Irish dance steps, the dancer's foot strikes the floor in a twisting shuffle of the right foot while hopping into the air with the left foot.

There are also combinations of Irish dance steps that include the "1-2-3", shuffle, stamping the whole foot and tapping one toe behind the other foot that holds body weight.

Ballet Up refers to uniformly performed steps. The first comes from the ballet step, "chasse," "cabriole" which is to leap into the air while the left calf beats under the right calf that is extended forward in the air.

From the Neolithic to the Modern Era, Irish dance has weaved, zigged, zagged, leapt, slid, rocked and kicked its way into what we know today: a bright, cheerful jig seemingly designed for little bt sheer pleasure. Folks don't "dance a jig" when summat bad happens. Next tie you get happy and do a little dance, watch your feet. Religious rites in a circle, in a wood morphed into everything from happy, plywood-tapping, small-town pub patrons, to Saturday morning classes with bewigged little girls and vest-sporting little boys kicking their own bums in dance studios East to West, to the top-shelf of dancers, Riverdancers, forming the longest of line-dances, gracing the finest stages across the grandest cities of the world. 

Whilst Riverdance produced world-class spectacle, Irish dancers you see at a pub, a festival, etc., are generally a solo to a small group. If you;ve ever wondered how that much footwork can stay in one spot, the emergence of dance saw many an 18th and 19thC dancer utiliing the limited space of a room, but dancing on barrels or tabletops. (This is also a common occurraece at Malarkey's in Newport Beach, The Dubliner Irish Pub in Copenhagen and Dick Mack's in Dingle. 

By the 18thC, an era in which formality ansdstructure held reign in most aspects of life, Irish dance parameters became notably stringent and rigid, thanks to the new reed of Dancing Master, giving rise to the recognizable form we know today. "Dancing Master" was a prestigious vocation, a teacher who travelled to villages and towns across Ireland, holding group lessons for the peasant and privileged classes alike; though, the students were largely of the peasant class, taking advantage of these opportunities when they came to town. The best dancers would have been awarded solos, to perform for the town and, as dancefloors did not grow in the wild, some villagers would sacrifice their doors, giving the soloist a better platform on which to perform. What did grow in the wild, was the human nature to compete. There grew grand competition not only within a Master's group, for solo positions, but also amongst rival Dance Masters' and their groups throughout neighbouring counties. This fierce spirit gave rise to more competition throughout the counties and country; today we have even more fierce feis and competition, ranging from local to regional to national to international to professional, i.e. Riverdance. World Irish Dance Association, a.k.a. World's, and Oreichtas are premiere levels for sompetition. From toddlers to pro principal-dancers, don't let the guys' charming caps, suspenders, pressed vests and dress pants, or the girls' sweet dresses, shiny tiaras, mile-high, ringlet-wigs - I still don't know the tradition behind those wild wigs - and schoolgirl socks fool you ... dem folks is badass. Irish Dancing: like any other sport, only much harder.  

The pursuit of Irish dance is natural for this writer. A far-reaching background in dance and sport is a natural impetus: ballet, Polynesian dance, gymnastics, track, fencing and yoga, Of all these endeavours,fencing and yoga stretch well into my adult life. (Although, my mad yoga skills are far deadlier than my fencing skills. Why the self-centered disclaimer, JennyPop? Nobody cares, the fair reader contemplates. I state this because, it is the most brutal, joyful and rewarding athletic endeavour I've ever done.

What I can conclude, is at some point, my ancestors (MacPhersons, Grimes and Marshalls) must have fecked with a fairy fort; or I did, unwittingly, three years ago (for that is about when my Step Dancing journey commenced) on the road from County Clare to Dublin when our travelling party happened upon the Kilmacduagh ruins in Co. Gort, and wandered about the lands for a good spell. The only other explanation for chasing a curse, is one Kathleen Fitzpatrick: she who introduced me to The Dance, gave me my first lesson and my first hard-shoes, shared with me my first, impromptu pub-dance, on a very tiny dance floor at O'Sulivan's in Escondido, CA, and is my one and only Step-sister. Come to think of it, she was there, at the ruins ... I think she's a fairy, I think I blame her, for catapulting me into this dancing madness. Of course, it could have been anyone around me, for, as Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat observed, "We're all mad here."

"Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter, lullabies, dreams and love ever after. Poems and songs with pipes and drums, a thousand welcomes when anyone comes. That's the Irish for you!"

Folow @JennyPopCom

Is it cynical to find the silver lining, to instinctively seek it in the first place? One supposes it depends upon whom answers. Cynical could be read as pragmatic. 2020 was a vile year for so many around the globe, on so many facets. For those whom did not survive it, for their inner circles, there is, likely, no silver lining, and the only thing to write is sincerest condolences. What can one say, but, I'm sorry. For those whom survived, we were afforded the opportunity of self-reflection and existential reexamination. The question is, did you self-reflect, did you examine the life you're living? Did you find yourself content with your innermost findings? Excellent! What a wonderful place to start; a good attitude is always a great starting block! Conversely, did you find yourself displeased with your status quo? If so, what did you do to change your status? For, if 2020 didn't slap you silly and teach us everything can change overnight, literally overnight - from shutdowns of fave pubs and restaurants, to travel and event cancellations, to school closures, and, most heinously, death -  then you failed to pay proper attention. However, a paradigm shift doesn't have to be viewed solely with pessimism; it is possible to view also with optimism, taking advantage of a forced situation and busting thorough it victoriously, or at least thinner. Whilst the beginning of the pandemic was almost too freaky to comprehend, by April it was clear we were all homebody-noobies and, depending on your frame-of-mind, what a marvelous, unique opportunity, in the course of human history, to Seize the Upside, Seize the Day and Emerge Better. 

If you think on other pandemics and plagues throughout mankind's history (the Spanish Flu of 1918, the European Black Death of the mid-14thC, the San Francisco and Australian Plagues of 1900), there could not be a better time to be in lockdown. First and foremost, medical research and application the world over is, obviously, cutting-edge in 2020/2021. Yet, what other era has afforded us the beauty and utility of the Internet? Lockdown might mean your local bar is closed, your kids are now homeschooled (never a bad plan anyhoo, I thought) and you work from home now (also never a bad plan), but you have complete access to whatever you need/want/crave. Imagine having had Amazon and Instacart in 1915 Sydney or 1350 Vienna. Imagine all the YouTube the quarantined might have watched during the Spanish Flu days? Like visiting New Orleans, Vegas, Paris or Amsterdam: if you're bored, you're just not trying. Got an itch? The world is in your hand. Use your technology to scratch that itch. 

Language, exercise, film, fashion, literature, the Fine Arts, writing: all constants in my existence. Bettering my knowledge of these joys are habitually expected, of myself; ergo, filling quarantine time with these pursuits was easy and fun. Kicking up my language study, adding a new level of difficulty to my yoga practice, committing to more writing, more often, including learning new styles of long-form poetry, studying every Woody Allen film, including identifying specific jazz songs within each film, and expanding my education of European painting and sculpture were all movements I expected to enact, regardless of a lockdown. What I didn't expect were the pursuits that piggybacked on my elemental interests.

If you desire fluency in a second (or third, or fourth) language, you must nurture it. If not, cool. Polyglotism isn't for everyone. I bet you're a lot better at math than I. Yet, if you are seeking fluency, simply because you learned a foreign language as a child, took it in high school, or even at advanced levels in college, doesn't mean you can let it flounder. It will pop back, though. Your long-term memory will rush it all the the front burner and off we go! Yet, to become proficient, like any art or sport, #practicepracticepractice! Flms, websites, Insta accounts, TV series, Zooming & Skypeing with friends whom speak your language of pursuit, whatever it takes, wherever you find it, practice as much as you can, daily.

As lockdown began last March, I found a fab new, Duolingo, to help me keep up my French and German. Whilst there, I thought it might be sage to add Italian,which I've been casually noshing on for about a decade. Then, because I'm bonkers for languages, I thought how fun to add a few more: Irish, Danish, Japanese, Klingon and Dutch. (Duolingo offers thirty-eight languages, including endangered languages like Hawaiian and Navajo. To boot, it's free and such fun! Yes, there are paid-subscription models, but the free version keeps one très occupée. Also, DYK, Ashton Kutcher was one of the early investors? Do yourself a fave and check on it! "The best new way to learn a language. Gamiification poured into every lesson!" Moi senses a future post devoted to Duolingo ... check back soon.)

So, of all the amuse-bouche languages I piled on my plate, what stuck was Dutch. Similar to Italain, I had been casually pursuing Dutch, if only for a couple of years, because of my love affair with The Netherlands and the Dutch. Ik houd van het Nederland en zijn mensen! Today, I am nearing my 365-day learning streak via Duolingo. (I believe today is something like 349.) Thanks to Duolingo plus following some Dutch-language Insta accounts (trying to translate captions and comments is xlnt for capturing colloquialisms), news-sites and watching the few Dutch-language films Netflix offers, my Dutch is - als ik het zelf mag zeggen - making wonderful progress. Now, if the Schengen zone reopens to American travellers, I'll be able to get back to my beloved Amsterdam and practice mijn Nederlands.

Now, it's true, languages come very easily to me. (Of course, it is at a brain cost for math and map-reading. Ask me to find a fraction, a percentage, do subtraction involving 9s, or ask me help navigate through the Irish countryside you will see a tearful, hopeless, sloppy pile of JennyPop.) Not all languages are my friends. I'm maintaining a tenuous hold on the basics of Irish. I might be able to politely request a menu, order some water, bread, wine and a sandwich, and, if I can work it into a conversation, point out to any passers-by on the Dingle coastline, "The seal eats a fish!" Itheann an séala iasc!." I don't ever expect to be fluent in Irish or Japanese (another one I'm working on, if only at learning the alphabet and characters thus far), and that's okay. Fluency, for me, will likely be relegated to French, German, Dutch and English (duh). Maybe Italian if I can get there again for a few months. However, in the realm of languages, I am not used to is failing, flat-out. However, I failed this year, miserably. Failure, thy name is Klingon.

Doff my cap, I do, to anyone whom can speak it. Pronunciation, to be precise, is not my problem. Dutch and German have taught me well the hard, throaty Gs, Hs and Rs. It is the sentence structure, possessives and pronouns that stump me, well, stumped me: past-tense. You will rarely read, or hear, this from Moi, yet ... I quit. You win, Klingon. I'm tapping out for good. Not one one to walk away empty-handed, I did learn one apropos, très useful phrase: Tu'HomI'raH SoH ‘e’ Sov wo’  "You are a thing notable for its uselessness; the Empire knows this." Ha! Too true, Klingon, too true.

The Greeks and Spartans believed it was not only vital to work the mind, but the body in equal measure. Agreed. Movement has been pivotal to my life since preschool and continues to this day: ballet, gymnastics, track and cross-country (hated it), field hockey (briefly and only because I loved the kilts), fencing, too many gym-memberships to count, and, as of the last fifteen years, yoga. The last six or so have been following Boho Beautiful Earth-angel, the quiet, gentle, beach-based, vegan and elegant Juliana Spicoluk. (I don't do frenzied, high-energy, you-got-this-girl! kind of frantic coaching. Ick.) In 2020, as I imagine many did, I added some meditation to my yoga practice. It was helpful on some days, notably in the earliest days of the pandemic, when nobody knew what the virus was, how it was transmitted and whether or not it was survivable. Like a Cloverfield monster out there somewhere, anxiety could creep in if one wasn't careful. Juliana's peaceful meditations definitely calmed me when needed. However, I'm more of a stretchy than sitty kind of girl and, whilst I still do the occasional meditation, I like to move. Happily, thanks to Juliana's nurturing instruction, I achieved some poses this past year I never thought possible, for me: Flying Crow, Full Mermaid, Double Eagle and various arm-binds. Still woefully out of my grasp are Bird of Paradise, Lotus Headstand and Pistol Squat. They're the Klingon of yoga. (Look them up, they're bonkers advanced!) 

Of course, a girl can't live on all lavender water, plinky spa music and love and light. Sometimes she needs a Guinness, some obnoxious, Dropkick Murphys and to kick up her heels, literally. 2020 was the year of Irish step-dancing and, like Dutch, it has burrowed deep into my heart and soul and has stuck like hearty, steel-cut oatmeal. Irish dance feels like home. It is also bonkers-difficult, way too much fun, requires supa cute dance shoes and, best of all, an hour of Star Jumps, Light Jigs, Rocks, Leap-2-3s, Sevens and Hornpipes is, by far, the hardest, sweatiest, heart-thumpiest workout I've ever endured Irish step-dancing: like a real sport, only much harder and wherein the weak are killed and eaten ... and washed down with a nice pint of Guinness. 

Oh, big whoop, JennyPop, the fair reader might comment here with exasperation and eye-rolls. You did some stuff. So what?  So this, fair reader ... my endeavours mean very little, if anything, to anyone other than Moi, and that is the point of 2020. This is not an advice column; I wouldn't dare be so confident or bold. Besides, you are too wise. As Ben Franklin sagely postured, Wise men don't need advice and fools don't take it.

Life can change very quickly and sans warning. Pursue your Best You because you want to, not because others wish it or want it for you or you think you're supposed to because of social pressure. If your Best You is a kick-ass cupcake baker, get on it. If your Best You is only a few credits shy of a degree, finish. If your Best You wants to lose weight, learn to knit, garden, cook, dance, write poetry, play soccer or paint, do it. Whatever you choose, do it with gratitude, gratitude for this beautiful life you get to live. Life isn't a carousel; we don't get multiple go-rounds. As Mom said, when I dithered once about what to order at a Karl Strauss, "Don't worry about the calories, honey. Eat the macaroni and cheese. Maybe there won't be a next time to get it." (Full disclosure: I did not get it. Instead, I got the waterrnelon goat-cheese salad. Mommy passed away suddenly about two weeks later. She was right, I should've gotten the macaroni and cheese.)

Whatever 2020 brought, the intangible sentiment of humanity and friendship is what will last, for Moi anyhoo. The opportunity of a year shaken so violently, like a snow globe in the hands of an horrible toddler, has shined a spotlight on friendships. 2020 brought me closer to my dearest friends, it brought a couple back from a silly tiffs and, for better or worse, it exposed a long-term friendship to be, sadly yet truthfully, nothing more than an façade: if it was easy, we were friends; the moment it took effort, we were not. A hard lesson to learn, but glad to know its depth. Where friends are the truest, not even a global pandemic can keep you apart; there are ways to keep connected, especially today. Where friends are fairweather, all it takes is a global pandemic to serve as the perfect excuse to break contact altogether. It's likely they're just not that into you, maybe never were. Sorry, but that's the short and sour truth of it, kittens. Move on to the folks whom appreciate the amazing unicorn you are. 

2021 has had a slow yet gentle and promising start. It's like driving a big sedan with a powerful, 390horsepower kind of engine. You don't bust off the stoplight like a flashy nutter, you very slowly pull away, giving those horsies a light kick. By the time you approach 30mph, you kick it up a tick. After that, you're just a smoky grey blur on PCH. It's almost April. I'm feeling about 45mph ... I can't wait to hit full speed. 

Abyssinia, kittens! Keep bettering yourselves!

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