The shortest day of the year.
That means tomorrow the days start to grow long again. I want to stay home and sit by the fire, it will be dark by 4:30.
But tonight there’s a hafla at my bellydancing class. (Hafla or Khafla (soft “a” in the word) from the Arabic meaning get-together, party, or ceremony. Outside of Arabic-speaking countries it is used to refer to a gathering of belly dancers, often with a formal stage show and vendors. Wikipedia) Everyone’s bringing something to eat and in-between there’ll be dancing. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
I’m a little nervous about going. I liked the idea of getting to talk the other women in the class, something we don’t usually get to do, but now that it’s actually going to happen I’m getting that old uncomfortable party feeling. Something I’ve known my whole life.
I tell myself I’m different now, and it really would be nice to get to know the women I dance with every week better, but still the dread sits in the bottom of my belly and jiggles my brain.
I believe once I get there the feeling will dissipate. Kitty, who introduced me to Bellydancing is coming and we talked about dancing together. I’m even bringing a tortellini salad, something I haven’t made in years.
I like the idea of celebrating the Winter Solstice with dancing and food. I like the idea of the whole thing, it’s actually doing it that makes me nervous.