Sixteen days since I last posted, 12 days since I last danced. I’ve slept little and had a few fits of anxiety. I’ve eaten my weight in fast food and doughnuts, out of both convenience and stress. I’ve dreamed of flamenco and death, and struggled to stay warm during a freak week of summer weather.
But I’m back to the world of the living and ready to put on my shoes again. And I’ll do so in remembrance of Grandpa.
Grandpa used to say that if you could sing and dance, you were set. Why? Because a fella could make a buck as a singing hoofer in the ’30s and ’40s. He was a fan of the old musicals and watched them daily, over and over again, up till the end. He had such admiration and respect for musicians and dancers.
I know much of my appreciation of music and dance comes from him. I’ll think about that Thursday when I’m putting down some rolling golpes.
Married to the Dance 