A quiet day. Morning rain. Afternoon sun with lazy, puffy clouds.

The dogs snoozed (and snored) on their couch. Well, they were asleep for a minute or two.

My new Instant Pot is making itself useful. I can smell the beef stewing in its own juices.

My computer is being overrun by music and dance and ice skating.

Ice skating?

There, somehow, appeared a film on the British Ice Dancers known as Torvill and Dean.

Nineteen eighty-four.

It was mesmerizing. Despite having viewed their routines a hundred times (at least) I was struck by the coordination of that famous pair. They matched each stroke of their blades; their arms and legs reached the same height or distance as the other. They, quite literally skated as one. Their technique was impeccable.

But the performances was more than technique. They was more than hours of repetition and hard work. There was a grace, a peace about them. Even the comic ones.

And so I spent most of my day watching “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, “The Red Hat”, “Barnum” and maybe a dozen more. Finding peace in their art.

I saved the very best for last.

Bolero.

Not just Ravel’s Bolero.

Ravel’s Bolero by Torvill and Dean.