Our day started early at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center. We were anticipating the crowds getting thicker at various locations today because of the opening of the Albuquerque balloon festival the following day. Early admission was the key to missing the crowds, so we were the first ones in the door. The Cultural Center is a museum that encompasses the art and artifacts of the Pueblo people in Albuquerque. Throughout Albuquerque, there are a series of 19 pueblos that can also be toured. These are not museums, though, but actual homes inhabited by Pueblo peoples.
Because of the Balloon Festival, a day of ceremonial dancing was planned at the cultural center, and this was the main attraction for us. Because of my previous experience with stage performance, I am quite the stickler for good audience etiquette, and I have been drilling these skills into my kids somewhat successfully. I reminded the boys of the “rules” of being a good audience member before we entered the auditorium and ended with “you may feel bored, but you may not look bored.” Of course, I had no idea how pertinent this warning would be.
The dancing began with a flourish. For the first 10 minutes, it seemed endlessly fascinating. The costumes were brilliant and the dancers were inspired. All of the performers, including the small children, were beaded with sweat from their exertions. Without a doubt, ceremonial dancing would make a great fat burning workout.
I don’t want to seem as though I was unappreciative of the dancing. In fact it was enjoyable, and I felt privileged to be a part of this ancient art form. However, we have a saying in our family; you don’t have to eat the whole watermelon just because you like it. Or in other words, there is a fine line between enough and too much. As we passed the 30 minute mark, we passed the line. At first there was just an audible sigh and some chair wiggling. Then, the baby started to fuss and then fuss louder.
Before there was even a discussion, Gary volunteered to be the parent that whisked him out the back door of the theatre. As I watched him disappear out of the theatre, I could hear him sniggering at my misfortune. Then, Aidan wiggled so much that he slipped completely out of his chair, while the others took turns leaning over to ask when we could leave. I shot fiery glances at each of the older boys, and took Aidan in my lap, so that I could help him to sit still. By a combination of miracle and silent threats, we managed to make it through the remaining 45 minutes and tried not to look as if we were running as we exited.
Gary was sitting happily outside the theatre holding a sleeping baby. He smiled broadly but before he could gloat, I shot him a look and said, “Time to go.” On our way out the door Ryan asked, “Did you see those people who got up in the middle of the performance? That’s rude.” Ah, score one for mom and her confounded principles.
