there's gotta be a fiddle in the band. two is better.

i'm not a good dancer. i usually abhor crowded dance floors & large numbers of people moving in obscure gestures all around me.

unless, of course, the following criteria are met:

-- my dance partner is an octogenarian with more spunk than men half his age;
-- the venue is cain's ballroom;
-- the dance floor legitimately has saw dust on the floor - and it's being used for appropriate purposes; &
-- the music is 1930's western swing.



i can remember growing up to my grandfather singing bob wills' songs under his breathe. occassionally one boot-clad foot would start beating time to the music in his head, the melody of his memories.

there'd be western swing and gospel music playing from the cab of that old green chevy each time we drove to southeast oklahoma to visit family.

so, last night, when i accepted dancing hands that were withered and rough, i felt like i was living just a little for my grandparents. each couple i saw on the dance floor made me wonder what they were like as young people. maybe they met and fell in love while seeing bob wills perform at cain's. or maybe it was under far-less glamorous circumstances. there were so many stories twirling around me that i couldn't keep up.

there was a sense of magic to be surrounded by people who had lived my years times three - and still has these amazing smiles on their faces and literal bounces in their steps.

last night was a testament to what it means to keep living, and living well.

and it doesn't hurt when there's a fiddle in the band.