News

Every couple falls in love because of something. I don’t mean the usual things, but there is something in common, some moment, some special something that makes you look at each other differently. For Jon and I it was dancing. My ex would never dance with me. He was actually happy that I had a friend that would dance with me so he didn’t have to listen to me complain about it. At first, it was just cool to have someone to dance with at SF conventions, and at concerts. Jon actually took me to my first concert. It was "My Scarlet Life". We danced, and danced, and danced until it was the wee hours and it was time to go home.

Then about the time we were realizing that we were more than friends, Jon blew his knee out. He did it dancing in his apartment. And that was the end of dancing together. Even after the doctor declared him better, he was afraid to dance. Afraid that he’d hurt himself again. I couldn’t blame him, but I missed it. Last year he finally got his knee operation, and I hurt my ankle. The doctor thinks I can avoid surgery but physical therapy has been going on for a year now, and though improved, it’s not well. I’ve been cleared for a lot of physical activity but not weight bearing exercise. Which means, stay off the damn ankle.

But Saturday at the Solstice party we were finally able to dance again. First SJ called Jon up, saying, "Come to the front so everyone can see." He did, and he danced for us in his suede kilt and New rock boots. He can really make that kilt swing. I love a man with junk in the trunk who knows how to shake it; always have. He was still being tentive. I know how he danced before we both got hurt, but dancing at all was a wonderful thing. Him dancing by himself, swinging those hips prompted Charles to run up and put a dollar bill in his kilt, which cracked us all up.

Then I just couldn’t resist dancing to SJ Tucker’s music. Jon had been so careful with the first dance that I didn’t want to put him on the spot so I did the junior high girl thing. I got another girl to dance with me. You know what I mean, girls will dance, boys not so much. But I knew Pili would dance with me, and so I scampered across and invited her out of her seat. We danced. It got other people up out of their seats and got some movement on the dance floor, which is what a good hostess is supposed to do. I was careful at first, a lot of hip action and very little foot movement. I danced one song, then sat down and rested. I was good.

But as the songs wore on, it was harder not to dance, especially when I found that I could do it. Jon joined me on the dance floor and we aren’t up to our old level of frenetic activity, but we danced together after many years of not being able to, and it was good. No, it was wonderful, as it always has been. Jon had his shit-stomping New Rocks on, and he began to stomp them in time to the beat of the song, and it carried through the dance floor, and to me. I began to dance, using my feet, and there is just something about a drumming circle that I can’t resist, and we both finally were well enough to join it. The last dance cleared the tables of guests because they all came to dance. Okay, all but two, and they were both sad that they could not dance, but they have injuries that haven’t been fixed yet. Charles needs his knee fixed. He was quite boo-boo faced that he couldn’t join the dancing. The last time we all went out to a club Charles was still well enough to dance and Jon and I were too hurt to join in the music. It’s taken surgery for one and physical therapy for both of us to get us back to this point.

One friend’s husband said, "The looks on your and Jon’s face when you were circling each other at the end was amazing." I took that as high praise, and a very romantic thing to say. My friends have some great husbands.

It was our dancing that first made friends tell us we "liked" each other. It was what first made strangers mistake us for a couple, when we’d just look puzzled at them and say, "We’re just friends." All our friends knew before we did that much heat means there’s fire somewhere. It would take us eight years of friendship to get a clue. Now eight years married, the heat is still there, and there is fire down below, and on the dance floor again. Yea!

Next blog, we’ll talk about the hottest kiss I’ve seen and some real fire.

For those who are surprised that I had never been to a concert, well, there was no money for extras when I was growing up. Music, concerts, that was just not in our budget. The first record I ever bought was after I married the first time. I saved my money for books when I was young. They were my escape and life blood. Music wouldn’t become important to me until after college.