Water aerobics early this morning meant walking into water that was slightly warmer than the ambient temperature of 66 degrees Fahrenheit. It wasn’t bad as long as I could keep my body submerged. But brrr!
When our beloved T., keeper of the music, turned on the tunes, all became right in the world. First song up? “Do You Love Me,” the song released by the Sonics in 1965 and covered by quite a few artists including David Hasselhoff. (heaven help us.). The movie Dirty Dancing reminded everyone that it was a worthy song. Yes it is.
Pretty soon I forgot about the cold and bopped my way across the pool. Do you love me? You bet I do.
When it comes to dancing, it’s hard to beat a good waltz. I learned how to navigate a waltz with my high school and college friend, Roy. Even though I believe he was gritting his teeth every time I pulled him onto a dance floor, times when he could have been dancing with a more capable partner, he never turned me down. Roy was a good man, and I doubt I’ll ever have the pleasure of dancing with a better dancer than he was. I hope he’s waltzing in heaven.
So, back to waltzes. I’m not talking about a Viennese waltz; although, I think I’d enjoy that, too. I‘m referring to the country version of the dance. Songs like, “Love on a Hot Afternoon,” and “Waltz Across Texas.” There’s just something about that three-quarter time that makes me need to get up and move.
There are two waltzes on my playlist now, one older, one newer, that give me great pleasure. My cat, not so much, as she acts as my reluctant, and often dangerous, dance partner. She doesn’t like it when I try to lead. She’s light on her feet, but those claws are a real menace. Trust me—you do NOT want to step on her toes.
I don’t know what it is about a waltz that gets me every time, and maybe I’m better off not over analyzing it. I should just relax and let someone else lead me around the floor.
Peace, people and one, two, three, one, two, three.
I’m not a fitness nut. For a brief time in my life I was, but stuff happened and I reverted back to just being a nut.
At the wonderful age of 64 I have few aches and pains. Both of my knees still work and if it weren’t for a frozen shoulder and some digestive issues I’d feel almost as good as I did at 16. I’m quite a bit fuller figured than I was then, but I’m okay with that. (Hoping I didn’t just jinx myself with all this talk of feeling good.)
Yesterday morning my Apple Watch challenged me to a 20-minute dance workout. I like to dance. No, I LOVE to dance. My morning routine usually includes dancing to at least one of the songs on my Amazon Echo playlist. Three to six minutes of cardio after which I shower and then sit down for a writing session. That sequel isn’t going to write itself, you know. Could I attempt a 20 minute dance-a-thon? Challenge accepted.
And I made it! Granted, every now and then my dancing looked more like me standing in place and snapping my fingers to the beat than actual dancing, but I kept at it—even going a few minutes over time because I couldn’t figure out how to stop the workout timer on the watch.
So now I’m laying in bed trying to decide if I’ll go for it again. Another 20 minutes of sleep or 20 minutes of dance. It’s a tough decision. Yes, it is.
Be honest. You know there are songs that make you need to dance. Okay, maybe you’re like Studly Doright and NEVER need to dance, but if you’re anything like me certain songs can almost literally pull you out of your seat and onto the floor.
Love Shack by the B-52’s is one such song for me, and since it has the word “love” in the title, it qualifies for special mention in one of my February posts. Maybe you have a few “must dance” songs. Let’s compare choices.
Every morning I dance around my bedroom while the cats watch in either fascination or revulsion. Sometimes I swoop in and bring one or another along on my wild pagan romp. They endure the experience with a stoicism the ancient Greeks would have admired. Here’s my actual cat, Patches, watching my dance routine:
Put my head on your shoulder
This feels so right
You don’t like to dance,
But maybe you might
Enjoy holding me close
While shuffling our feet
Kissing during the refrain
More on the downbeat.
I love you so much
That I forgot how to dance
That’s the truest love
The biggest romance.
But sometimes I wish
That you’d welcome the chance
To take me in your arms
And initiate the dance.
I scalded the roof of my mouth several days ago while dining on the exquisite Fit Fare Veggie Skillet at the Denny’s just down the road. Before you look down your nose at my choice of restaurant let me assure you that our Denny’s in Midway, Florida, is the best in the world. It is well-managed with an efficient and personable wait staff, and food that looks exactly like the pictures featured on the glossy menu, and tastes just like I need it to taste.
When my favorite server brought me my favorite meal I dug right in and was immediately rewarded by that ohmygoshtoohottoohot!!! panic. I couldn’t very well spit the food into my plate so I grabbed my ice cold soda and took a long drink, holding the liquid in my mouth until the food cooled.
I knew immediately that I’d pay for my eager gluttony for days, after all, this wasn’t my first burning mouth event. But I don’t think I’ve ever gotten actual blisters in my mouth before. Worst of all I couldn’t even drink my coffee this morning! Maybe I should just go back to bed. To heal.
Me on a day when my mouth didn’t hurt. That’s Studly Doright guiding me around the dance floor.
Peace, people!
Postscript: Several days after scalding my mouth I’ve been rinsing with lots of Shiner Bock beer. Salt water would probably be better for the healing process, but it doesn’t mellow me out like beer does.
Praying for Eyebrowz 