What life is for

I finally feel like I am not in the dark. That does not by any means that I do bulerias or tangos well yet, but I can hear where things are supposed to go and when they fit right I know. My feet are suffering even worse for all that. I even bought and took Ibuprofen cause my left joint was swollen, and I had to walk around Jerez (slowly limped).I left my skirt at home, cause I thought my feet were too bad to dance even in her class. But when I got there I changed my mind. I didn't pre-plan what I was going to do. I am not very afraid of her classes now. Ani told me both times "very good". Perhaps she has softened her standards even more, but I know that something has happened between last summer and now; things have sunk in even during my total break from bulerias. The only thing she said was my entrada needed more energy. "Eat a platano before you come," she said. "Eat two, and have a coca-cola". Later that night at the Peña, she told me I am too worried.
(Ha ha - on that note, a random man at a cafe the day before walked over and told me to relax. Then he bought me a plate of olives and a while later came over and kissed my foot. That's what I get for wearing black strappy sandals. That and wrecking my already fragile feet.)
Saturday I tried to help Keiko make sushi rolls but gave up. Then a lot of people gathered at Mika's place for her send-off party. She had food from 2 in the after noon to 11 at night. I met more cool people, and a large part of the afternoon/evening were spent jamming. It started off with a very flamenco-looking non-flamenco guy playing recorders. He had three and Kiko joined him as well as an Israeli girl. Later Manu and Kiko got going with two voices and two guitars doing the awesome Latin and French stuff that they do professionally. We had flamenco-rap. We had blues, with various voices improvising as we went. Another guitar and several more guitarists were present. Various people sang including Julz, a cute rapper boy from London studying bulerias with Ani, who made up his own words as he went. We had various random percussion instruments that made their way out of the depths of Alicia's house; some of them proper instruments, and others grabbed by people who had recently finished them off: a bottle of sherry and a bottle of wine, clunked artfully together or tapped with a plastic spoon. Everyone did a lot of palmas and several of us danced. A bit of flamenco, a bit of flamenco people dancing Latin. 
I had quite a good talk with Isabel, a Venezuelan girl who tried to help me sort myself out, flamenco-wise. It's a bit confusing that I so love Israel and Pastora Galvan, but I love Agujetas and the most rancio Jerez cante.
I saw Pastora Galvan live for the first time the other night, dancing with Rafael at Casa de la Memoria. I was so excited I didn't know what to do. She was amazing, as expected. What she did was not really out there, because of course it was for tourists. I am too shy to do much more than a few quiet "oles" or "esos" or whatever. But I do them anyways, when there is not a single other soul in the audience making a sound. By the end, I was really heartened that an older English man beside me started saying "Ole!" These tourists from the cold north or wherever just need a bit of permission.