Pat Bean's blog

 Shanna and Dawn, my granddaughter and her wife, threw an 83^rd birthday bash for me Friday night. I had a blast.

I laughed a lot, drank just a bit too much, played pool and near the end even had one dance. It was magic.

 When I was young, I had loved to dance. But one night, the man I was dancing with told me I was a horrible dancer and had proved it by (I now suspect) maneuvering me so I stepped on his feet.

I stopped dancing for the next twenty years,

It was not until 1983 — when I found myself footloose and single in a small Idaho town, and friends with three women who liked to party on Wednesday nights after work, that I began dancing again.

At first, I would turn down invitations to dance. But one night, perhaps after a drink too many, I accepted.  My partner told me that I was a good dancer. I thought he was lying, but I didn’t turn down offers to dance after that. Amazingly his compliment was repeated a few times again by other partners.

For the next two years while I lived in Twin Falls, and for quite a few years after that, I danced at every opportunity that came my way. My favorite was the country western swing with a six-foot-two guy who was just a friend. Our favorite move was something we called the Octopus.

 But until Friday night I hadn’t danced in at least 20 years. The body reacted as if I had just danced the day before, and brought with it a flood of dazzling memories. It also felt good to have a man’s arms around me once again. I guess this old broad still has a bit of life in her yet.

Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion, Scamp. She is a wondering-wanderer, avid reader, enthusiastic birder, Lonely Planet Community Pathfinder, Story Circle Network board member, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining.