In Mary Lee Lyke's living room, I was a spectacular dancer. I had booked a couple of private lessons with her before my trip. We seamlessly two-stepped together and pulled off every hotshot move in the book. Cajun dancing never felt so free and joyful.
Something must happen to the Northerner's brain when they cross into Louisiana. What moves? Do I know anything? The two step rhythm was natural enough, but for the life of me, nothing else would come.
The cliquishness from the Rock and Bowl zydeco evening was absent, replaced with a warm, welcoming community. I had barely stashed my gear and changed my shoes before a woman asked me to dance. At the end she handed me off to another. I never lacked for a partner. It felt like a friendly contra dance gathering.
That I still couldn't remember how to do anything didn't detract from having a fun evening. At the break I spoke to Bruce Daigrepont, the accordianist, got permission to video, and made a date with him for Thursday, my final project shooting date. He loves to talk about the music—he's going to be a great interview.