Shall We Dance?

"Ghee, now you sit right dere and me and Amelie are going to dance for you, okay?"

"Okay, Coraline ... I'll sit right here and watch you and Amelie dance."

"Siri ... play Low Rider."

I'm not quite sure which was more amazing to me, the fact that my 3-year-old granddaughter knows how to talk to Siri on her parents' phones or the way they both seem to instinctively know how to dance or that Low Rider is 1-year-old Amelie's favorite song for dancing. I laughed until I cried watching the two of them ... Coraline, the master twirler and jumper and Amelie, the queen of head bobbing and arm flapping. My precious granddaughters obviously inherited their mom's dancing genes ... sorry, Mattie, but you know it's true. I'll be the first to say that I am not, nor have I ever been, a good dancer, though I've always longed to be. From watching Bobby and Cissy on The Lawrence Welk Show to John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever to Ellen ... Ellen's the best dancer ever, by the way, of course she is ... I've wished and wished and wished to magically be transformed into a dancing machine, but it just ain't happening.

Because of all the construction where I normally get on the interstate to drive to work, I've been taking a different route for the last couple of months in an attempt to avoid at least some of the logjam that is now early morning traffic in Kansas City. My new route takes me through several neighborhoods and allows me to jump on the interstate a couple of exits past the major lane closures and, in theory anyway, shaves a few minutes off of my morning commute. There's also the added benefit of better scenery ... several of the big trees in the neighborhoods are beginning to show signs of fall, and fall is absolutely my most favorite season of the year.

And then there's the people I see along the way on my "through the neighborhoods" drive ... like the young mom walking her children to school or the two friends jogging together on the trail or the elderly couple I see each morning as they walk together hand-in-hand. Actually, shuffling together would be a better way to describe their slow, tenacious pace as they move along the sidewalk. They walk together in the heat ... they walk together in the rain ... they walk together in the wind ... and I'm willing to bet my last dime they will walk together in the cold and the snow, too. I've grown accustomed to seeing them each morning ... always in the same location ... always holding hands ... always walking. Until yesterday morning ... yesterday morning, they weren't walking ... yesterday morning, they were dancing. Yep, right there in front of God and everyone who passed by, the old man and the old lady were dancing.

It's a good thing there were no cars behind me when I pulled up to the stop sign, because I sat there for a good long while watching the two as they swayed and twirled and moved to whatever imaginary music that only they could hear. And yes, the moment I saw them, my eyes filled with tears and before I pulled away, those tears were coursing down my cheeks like tiny rivers rushing toward the sea. They were absolutely mesmerizing to watch, so much so that each driver at the 4-way stop sign joined me in gazing at the beautiful scene unfolding before our eyes ... two people who refused to be halted by the boundaries of age ... two people so very obviously in love ... two people who didn't give a red hot horse's behind what anyone else thought about them ... two people who danced.

I've been thinking a lot about dancing since I saw the elderly couple yesterday morning ... no, that's not correct ... I've been thinking a lot about not dancing since I saw them. I'm pretty sure the last time I danced, unless of course I count the goofy dancing I do with Coraline and Amelie when I visit them in Canada, was with Matt at his wedding. And here's the thing ... I don't usually sit around and wish I had someone to dance with, but ever since I saw the couple dancing yesterday, I've felt more alone than I have in a really long time and I'm not sure why. Granted, I do think about growing old alone a lot more than I used to, and honestly, I'm not too fond of the idea. I'd rather grow old walking together with someone ... I'd rather grow old with a best friend by my side ... I'd rather grow old dancing together with the one I love on a sidewalk and not giving a red hot horse's behind what anyone else may think about me.

As I typed those words, Ollie the wiener dog snuggled in a little closer, and I received a text message from Brad letting me know he made it safely in from Maine. I had a sweet chat with my daughter earlier this evening, and my daughter-in-law messaged me some pictures of my grandgirls. You know what? Maybe I'm not such a bad dancer after all ... because, after all, dancing is really about love. 

Shall we dance?