After the dance is over.....

Yes folks, these are my dancing shoes.  Now, don't worry. They didn't get like this overnight.  I really needed to replace them over a year ago.  But you know how you put things off.  Anyway, this Hootin an Hollarin did them in.  A new pair is on its way, even as I speak.

These shoes and ones like them have traveled many a mile to dance after dance.  But, truly they are most at home here in Gainesville, on the Square, for three nights out of the year.  Hootin and Hollarin is when they like to shine.

And shine they did for all three nights.  The music was perfect.  The weather couldn't have been better.  But, actually it is the friends old and new that I dance with that make it such a special time.  Some of these folks are old acquaintances and have danced with us for years.  Others are new people we have just met.  And some are ones who have been gone for a few years and then returned.  It doesn't matter.  When the music starts, we come alive...regardless of age or experience.  As an old time friend once said, "The music just goes all over you and you can't keep your feet still."

We love to see people who sit on the sidelines and watch.  In particular this year, I was glad to see our longtime friend Lena Brown, who has just celebrated her 90th birthday, sitting in the front row with her daughter Madeline.

Perfect weather.  Great music.  All in all, a wonderful time. 

And now that the dance is over....time to break in the new dance shoes and look forward to next year's Hootin an Hollarin.

 

                                                                             

I can't do that anymore!

Yes, that is me.  And Andy.  We were dancing at the Taney Center many a moon ago.  The tune was the Jesse Polka and we were doing our patented high kick, entertaining the crowd...and the band.  As far as I know, Andy and I were....and to this day....still are the only couple in Southwest Missouri to add this little flourish to this particular dance.  I can't remember when we came up with it.  But I do know that we were much younger...and less arthritic than we are now.

Hootin an Hollarin is coming up.  In fact, it is just around the corner.  We love to dance.  And we will be there, front and center when the band hits the first lick of Liberty or Soldier's Joy or maybe even Sally Goodin.  But when they play the Jesse Polka  we will be doing the Elder-modified version...that is, minus the leg kick. I can't do that anymore but Andy could probably still do it.   If any of you have seen  how my husband cuts up on the dance floor with his patented "Andy moves", you know what I mean.  I truly do not know where he learned the step that he does, flinging his leg out straight and winding up his arm in time to the music.  Many people have remarked on it...but I don't think anyone has tried it.

That's the great thing about dancing down here in the Ozarks.  Everyone has their own style.  I love to watch the dancers down on the Square at night.  Youngsters and teenagers, newly married couples and oldsters...the music sets them moving.  Age is not a factor.  We once danced with a man who was approaching ninety.  He had learned to square dance when he was a boy and had become quite a famous dancer here in the Ozarks.  When he would come to a dance he looked as if he could hardly get in the door.  His back was bent.  His legs were weak.  He would move slowly and carefully to his seat and put on his dance shoes. But when the fiddle music started he was the first one on the floor.  "Get up here you youngsters," he'd say.  "Times a wasten'  Are you goin' to dance with me...or not!"  We'd jump up and make a square. He would call the set, his voice not as strong as it was when he was young, but strong enough to follow....Chase the rabbit, chase the squirrel, chase that pretty girl round the world...and off we'd go.

He never said that he couldn't dance.  He never said he was too old to dance.  He never left the dancehall without thanking us for dancing with him. 

And so, as usual, I will be down on the Square all three nights this week.  I will not be sitting down much at all.  I may not be able to kick my leg up high in the air like I use to.  But just like my old friend, I'll be urging my friends to get up and join in the dancing.  After all, times a wasten'!

Then....and now

Do we look 51 years older?  The top picture was my graduating class of '63.  The bottom one was taken a few weeks ago when we got together in Santa Fe, New Mexico for a celebration.  Many of us couldn't make it back to Wisconsin last September for the official 50th year get together.  We began emailing each other in November and with a lot of work by a lot of people, it all came together.  The Kemper West Reunion.

We hugged, we cried, we laughed, we hiked and shopped.  We went to the opera, we visited museums, we talked about our families,  and took pictures.   And then we talked some more.

As one classmate put it so aptly, "I like the women that we have become."  We were classmates, roommates, best friends 51 years ago.  And then we were apart for half a century.  We married, had children, divorced, remarried, lost our spouses, had grandchildren, suffered through sickness, celebrated milestones....and still we recognized each other. 

What is it about us?  What makes us able to just pick up where we left off so long ago.  Maybe it is because we never forgot each other.  And it is a forever bond.

The best illustration that I have for it is this.  We were taking a hike in the mountains.  One of our friends had gone on ahead and I could see her outlined in shadow ahead of me.  Suddenly, I realized what I was looking at.  I grabbed the arm of the friend beside me and cried out, "Look, look.  There's Abbott!  And she looks just like she use to!"  The years fell away and I could see my distant friend as she had been...long ago.  It brought tears to my eyes.  How wonderful. 

Looking into people's eyes you can see their soul.  I know it.  I feel it.  And the bond between all of us is so strong that even the years can not take it away.

So cheers to the Kemper Hall Class of '63.  Then and now...always the same, but better.