D is for Dancing

Spring is here; summer is on its way. That means outdoor dancing venues with earlier performances, perfect for seniors looking to be home by ten. Gotta catch the news, you know.

But there’s one more late show this weekend, an all-time favorite R & B band that plays Black soul, Black blues, Black disco, and fake Black (Bruno Mars). I love Pride and Joy and will squeeze into the venue late, after a wedding rehearsal and dinner.

My car radio is set to KBLX, the Black station in the SF Bay area. All the other stations are nothing but static. I don’t care.  I like the music and the news, which is not what mainstream stations report. I always thought my grandma had a little bit of black in her, and by default, me too. Sadly, Ancestry.com does not agree.

I danced to a Beatles’ band I’d never heard before called Hey Jude on Saturday in the North Bay. The guys had gray beards and didn’t look much like John, Paul, George, or Ringo, but they sounded good. They played a mix of old and new stuff, and were still going a half hour after the official quitting time. I had to go. My wing tips were beginning to hurt my feet, and I had a dinner date with a girlfriend back down in my neck of the woods.

I also dance at aerobics class and at any and all street fairs (starting soon). It’s good for what ails me, stresses me, or bugs me. When you’re dancing and smiling, it’s hard to be mad about anything.

Monday was April Fools’ Day. The aerobics teacher made us do the chicken dance, the Macarena, the Baby Shark song, and the Electric Slide. It was okay for that one day, but please not again till next year.

After my aerobics class, I stopped by Costco for a few things, including chocolate protein drink for Sis. A white-haired lady had her cart parked right in front of what I needed, so I said to her, “My sister likes the chocolate flavor.”

“Hmm,” the old lady said.

As she reached for the case of Ensure above her head, I said, “Do you need some help with that?”

“Honey,” she said as she put the case into her cart, “I’m almost 90. I made it.”

“Good shoulders, too,” I said. “High five!”

I offered her the palm of my hand, and she slapped it.

“Happy birthday!” I said as I went on my way.

A couple of shoppers gave me a funny look. They obviously had not been dancing this morning.

I’ll bet that super senior lady knows how to cut a rug. I should’ve asked her.





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