Made for Dancing

It's dance season again.  That's the time of year when it's dark as I get home from work and I can no longer safely go outdoors to exercise.  Instead, I tune in to some music and I dance -- all by myself in the living room. It's actually sort of a dance-aerobic exercise hybrid, but I call it dancing regardless.  And I am a lone dancer in our household. Larry nonchalantly walks by on his way to the kitchen, glances over my way, but doesn't feel the overwhelming need to join me as I flail around to the beat. Recently, I found myself dancing to Leif Garrett's 1970s-era hit, "I Was Made for Dancing" and I decided that it was my winter exercise theme song.  I truly love to move to music, whether I'm great at it or not.  The times in my life when I've taken dance lessons have been some of my happiest.  As adults, I think we easily become inhibited by our desire to not embarrass or draw attention to ourselves, while as children, if we heard a song, it just stood to reason that we danced.  There's a song that we sing at church called "The Lord of the Dance," which contains the lyrics, "dance, then, wherever you may be."  I may not be inclined to dance wherever I am, but most evenings, you will find me gyrating around in my living room. After all, as Leif Garrett sang, I was made for dancing.

Loosely Held Together

My friend Nancy asked me recently if I had ever learned how to shimmy and I told her I had not.  In fact, I told her that I was likely glued too tightly together to be able to shimmy.  People who can shimmy are able to shake their cores with such speed that they appear to vibrate. I've never seen a person shimmy in the flesh, only in the movies. My most vivid recollections are of a blonde girl from old 1960s beach movies.  The girl wore fringed clothes that showed off her shimmying abilities and shimmy she did, every time the music had a pulsating beat that lent itself to her shaking and quivering.  Perhaps as a teen, I might have entertained the idea of learning how to shimmy. But now that I'm in my mid-50s, I wouldn't even attempt it.  I'd either dislocate something or parts of me would keep shimmying even after I'd stopped.  I'll keep dancing, but I'll choose the kind that allows me to stay tightly glued together.

Old People's Prom

My husband Larry loves music, but is rarely seen on the dance floor.  I, on the other hand, could dance the night away. Larry and I attempted ballroom dance lessons several years ago, but gave up after disagreeing over who should lead and who should follow. We each experience the beat of the music uniquely and differently, making dancing a challenge to us and likely an eyesore to others.  However, one recent Saturday evening, we attended a party at which a D.J. played some old 1970s tunes to warm up the crowd.  The minute that one particular piece came on, I urged Larry to join me on the dance floor for just one dance.  It was a slow number, so we felt pretty secure that we could sway back and forth and not look too silly.  The song to which we danced was a staple of school dances of the 70s and often a prom theme.  Larry admitted that it was his junior prom song.  So, as we swayed to the music, I started to giggle.  Looking around the room, with rare exception, most who were dancing around us were of an age that the song could have been their prom theme, too.  Pretty soon, I was laughing right out loud, for I envisioned us at an Old People's Prom where everyone has gray hair and is still in that 70s version of slow-dancing, draped over each other, shifting their weight back and forth.  My totally strange reaction may be the reason that that was our only dance that evening.

The Last Dance

Larry and I celebrated my mom's last Valentine's Day a year ago dancing with her at the nursing home where she resided for the last months of her life.  Despite cancer taking over her body, she still had a little zip in her step, enough to kick up her heels with Larry and me as a big band played in the nursing home's large gathering room for their Valentine's Day party.  I have two great pictures from that special night -- one of Mom and me dancing a polka and the other of Mom, Larry and me dancing together with our arms around each other.  Mom loved to dance.  Her parents danced on Saturday nights in their younger years.  My mom and dad didn't follow suit, however.  Dad preferred to watch the dancing from the sidelines.  So, early in their marriage, Mom "danced" instead with their Dalmatian, Jigs, who was so-named because he would stand on his hind legs, place his big front paws on Mom's shoulders and dance a little jig with her to music playing on the television.  Later, I was Mom's partner, placing my little-girl feet on Mom's, dancing to the same program on TV.  We continued to be dance partners throughout the decades, always good for a polka or two or three.  There will never be a time when I hear polka music that I don't think of that very special last Valentine's Day dance with Mom last year, wishing we could have just one more.