“Where does it hurt?” the masseur asked when I showed up for my twice-a-month chiropractic massage.
“Everywhere,” I said. “I’ve danced four nights out of the last five.”
“That sounds like a teenager!” he said.
As I lay there and he pushed on every part of me — hips, arms, shoulders, legs, feet, I thought, I wonder if I could still dance without these massages.
Thursday night it was cold and windy, strange for the end of June in California. We bundled up and went to Moraga Commons Park. The band, Three Day Weekend, was good that evening, and we found two guys and a gal to dance with, on grass on an incline. One night down.
The next night a Beach Boys tribute band played closer to home. I went early to set up chairs and a blanket. An old couple sat next to us on an incline, and as I was saying, “You might tip over. Why don’t you move closer to us?” You guessed it. He fell backwards. It took a couple of strong guys to pull him up.
The couple told us they’d been together for 64 years. She said she liked to dance, and then the music started. We jumped up to dance on the third song, and soon twenty people joined us. No one likes to be first.
The old woman joined us and then sat down saying that we weren’t good enough dancers for her.
Last year the band had matching striped shirts, but this year they each wore a different colored Hawaiian shirt. Last year they had a different high tenor. This year the new guy really had to stretch to hit those high notes.
Last year the band played two strong sets. This year the second set was weak, with other bands’ songs and lost of stopping between songs. They finished up with the big hits, Good Vibrations, Fun, Fun, Fun and Help Me Rhonda. No Kokomo like last year, though. We danced on concrete.
The third night we went to Clayton. There was an Eagles Tribute band called the Boys of Summer. They were dressed in American flag t-shirts with head bands, real rockers. The lead guy sounded like Don Henley. They played all the hits. The best part was partner dancing with a friend who really knows how to lead. I was up on the balls of me feet most of the night since I didn’t know what he was going to do next. We danced on concrete.
Did you know that the muscles attached to the balls of your feet run up your legs and through your butt? I know this because the next day, while walking my dog, I stepped down and got a zing through my gluteus maximus.
Now, there’s a muscle I haven’t used in a long time.
The 4th day was a day of rest (except dog walking and picking the plum tree). My son and I watched the final episode of Stranger Things, the season finale. Two and a half hours. OMG.
Monday was the 4th, and we danced again for two hours on stone work in warm weather. Whoever thought uneven stonework would be a good dance floor was not a dancer. Pride and Joy dazzled the crowd. It was one good song after another. They even skipped I Will Survive, which made me happy, not my fave.
Two guy friends spent the evening dancing with us behind the huge speakers where the volume was better for old ears, plus we could watch the crowd and see the front line of the band and all their dance moves. Babies, grandmas (me), young people, weird people (one guy dressed like Elvis), cool people and sexy people were on full display. A group of Filipino people were doing a group cha cha that looked fun.
After the massage, I could barely walk. The masseur told me to keep dancing to keep things loose. It’s the price I must pay to act like a teenager four nights out of five.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 