What could be simpler? I mean I can count to three. If push comes to shove, I can even count to 4. I can hear the count in the music. I can feel it in my inner being. I can image doing it…until I try to transfer all of these parts to my feet and body, where I take the beautiful waltz and butcher it. And it is not just the waltz, I do the same thing to the country two step, swing dancing…You probably get the picture. I, to this point in my life, CANNOT DANCE.
You would think I would give up trying, but NO I really want to learn to dance. I really want to dance every dance and not look and feel like the klutz I am. Around me at the dance on Saturday night at Walden Shores are some pretty fantastic dancers, Donna and Dennis, Pam, Claudia and Ben, Michelle and Reggie, Vi, and so many others–all of them light on their feet and so much fun to watch. If all I wanted to do was watch and listen to the music, which some enjoy doing, then that would be fulfilling. But I want to DANCE.
There is something so freeing in dance. King David danced as the Ark of the Covenant returned to its rightful place in the Holy of Holies. Dancing should be a joyful activity, but tell that to my poor rhythmically gifted husband’s feet as I trounce on them.
Sunday evening I dragged Terry out of his chair after the football game and had him remind me yet again how the waltz steps went, counting out loud everything was going pretty good UNTIL he decided to turn. Having observed others dancing the waltz, I knew it was coming, but WELL! there I was tripping over my own feet, entangling legs and arms with Terry’s where he caught me before we both became a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Tell me, Mrs. Kisler how did you manage to break both your hip and your husband’s.”
Fortunately, no fall, no broken bones, only injured pride and Terry’s sweet attitude which says, “I love you, even if you can’t dance.” And I hear the unspoken, ‘and I really wish you wouldn’t.’
So hear me now in this my seventh decade, I am going to learn to waltz. There may be setbacks, embarrassment, maybe even humiliation, but I am going to put on Anne Murray ask my man to dance and waltz to “Could I have this dance for the rest of my life.” Because in my heart that is our song.