How am I lucky?

Gnats and crane flies draw imaginary 3D scribbled Spirograph patterns in the space I call my front yard outside the windowed, sunny view this morning.

How far “up” does my yard extend?

60 deg F on this 2nd day of April in the year I’m told is 2011.

I am floating on air today for the simple, joyous fact I danced with a beautiful lithe butterfly last night (I also danced with an angel (my wife, of course)).

The graceful movements of a ballet dancer who flew across the dance floor with the slightest touch of my hands.

And I don’t know her name.

Her name, I’m sure, means “brings him luck” in some language.

A nod to Erin at P.F. Chang’s; the chiropractor who works in Madison, Alabama (Dr. Alice?); Joe and his dance partner, Wendy; Curly and his swing partner; Kareem at the Apple store; and the kind folks at Ulta who helped my wife.

Currently, I’m working up a storyline that incorporates the following facts: a woman working 10 years in the restaurant business, who’s paying off college debt, moved from New Mexico to north Alabama, going from zero to 100 percent humidity, married 1 year and 1 month, first danced to “I want to grow old with you” from “The Wedding Singer” at her wedding reception, and can pour a glass of beer behind her back with her eyes closed while balancing a server tray, all without spilling a drop and with very little foam at the top of the glass.

And then there is the woman who wants her seat next to the dance floor reserved at all costs, getting me to smack around anyone who takes her seat while she’s dancing.

Finding joy in the simple things, like watching ants walk across the kitchen floor or crane flies bouncing against window screens, is a reminder how lucky I am.

I may be repeating my parents’ weekly ritual of going to the local dance hall on a Saturday night (mainly square dancing in their time), and I know how I find repetition boring, but in this case I am thoroughly enjoying myself because of the easy-going people who are sharing the social situation with me, wanting nothing but to have a good, clean, fun time together.

In awe, I watch couples skate around the room.

The room becomes a kaleidoscope made of twirling bodies – I see acrobats on the trapeze, throwing partner to partner to partner and back, or acrobatic flyers turning barrel rolls and figure 8s in the sky, colourful smoke trailing behind them to the soulful music…

Ceiling tiles lit up by Arduino-controlled LED spotlights…

Walls pulsing with fiber optic quilts like living tie-dyed shirts spinning around to the rhythmic beat…

Swing, cha cha, tango, merengue, simple hustle, rumba, salsa, waltz, foxtrot and 1950s-era costumes – I had forgotten how much fun these formal dance styles can be when mixed with freestyle dancing while meeting new friends who glide across the floor like they’re made of air.

It’s like having a reunion with myself from 25 to 30 years ago, thrashing on the dance floor or diving into the mosh pit, except now I’m older and my knees can’t take a jump off a 10-ft stage into the hypnotised masses.

Lucky to be here and happily participating in reconnecting thought patterns with physical dance patterns.

Yes, I’m easily distracted.  Today, I don’t mind – the politics of dancing can wait another day.

Time to get the wallflowers out on the dance floor to have a good time, Flying Monkey theatre at Lowe Mill, Kinesthetic Cue at Underground Madison, or wherever.