After a seven-hour return trip driving from the Big Easy to Rocket City, I relax for a few minutes before going to bed.

So many people to thank, I hope I remember most of them: Eric, Kevin, Kenneth, Greg, Chris and extraordinary room-cleaning staff at the Astor Crowne Plaza; Seth and friends/coworkers at Chesterfield’s; Kam and the volunteers who made Dance Mardi Gras a success; the enthusiastic workers at PJ’s; state troopers; street beggars; traffic light engineers; skyscraper window washers; polite tractor-trailer operators…

A weekend of adrenaline/endorphin rushes watching/competing/dancing.

…like a rare, old (“aged”) and delicious wine — one sip of a memory at a time.

…like the miracle of a newborn child — every move analysed for signs of progress.

If I had known what I was going to face on the dance floor, I might/shoulda/coulda practiced more, if not more seriously.

I definitely should have danced with more partners during social dance times.

The past has passed, the awards given.

Let the dreams carry me into the light of Monday morning…dreams of flirting in two-minute stretches with beautiful dancers…

Abi was the female pro dancer of the event.

…and I need another memory card for my camera phone for the next one of these great events.