dances
Well, um, and, er, alright, party (partay) time, letter to Kate printed and sealed with something like a kiss, Brian Hyland references always cool, did play Wilson Pickett, oh crazy hep cat, and in the park, earlier, passed a woman and surely I fell in love, but she was some 40 years younger and walking her shepherd and had no eyes for me. It’s hanging out until the end of the dance, like when they’ve started cleaning up, sweeping the dance floor and folding chairs, wrapping still eatable food, yeah, it’s fabulous to have all that (this) time, and if things like this are considered trades, well, all the young girls have left long ago, there’s more interesting things on their schedules and agendas, and’ just like back in the seventh grade, I find myself leaning against a wall, wondering who there is I can ask for the next slow dance, and if I’ll have the courage or maybe hope a friend comes along who I can ask to ask for me. Seventh grade magic.
Not too bad, and if I was feeling all exuberant and flush with self-esteem I could possibly dangle the thought that that girl with her dog doesn’t know what she’s missing, like going for a coffee with me or a blue-sky long walk, I wonder if two people can fit on one boogie board, though there are two in my trunk, like she says, “Sure, I’ll hang out with you a while, kid,” and we cruise over to Dog Beach in OB and the water’s warmed up and we rush in to the endless surf and do the out far enough spin around thing and we cruise in, crazy fast, side by side, even hold hands like a second or two, her dog’s in my Camry dozing some of the time and dreaming dog dreams, and if it’s enough fun maybe she’s willing to see me again. And to be clear, most of this did not travel through my increasingly wild mind while walking twice around the park this morning, falling in love with a girl with her dog, but it’s quite likely the answer to the question Kate asked me of what I was going to do into my retirement – official today – and I hemmed and hawed and can’t remember if I said anything cogent or articulate, I guess because I didn’t know that living in a world of fantasy was going to be a bigger part of it.
Plus, get this, while sitting (in meditation) this morning I thought of the song “Land of a 1000 Dances” by Wilson Pickett and remembered later – before the walk, before tumbling into a world of love – to open up YouTube and play it, which I did and, yeah, how can sweet childhood memories ever be anything but wondrous? The same as when I hear myself say, “Dig it.”