This business of getting older and doing so with some grace is a tricky little duck. No sense going on about the looks and body department. That infrastructure is crumbling as I write and girders must be hoisted.
However, dancing...that has been a bit of a bittersweet surprise. The Hubby and I met while dancing along the steamy waterbanks of this beautiful river city when the humidity was high and the moon was full and we were seventeen years younger. Doesn't seem like so many and it really has flown by, but our muscle memory must have a short memory and our fast twitch muscles have quite forgotten how to twitch. We went to the swing dance on Madison Avenue Thursday night and met the new generation; the ones we compete against for floor space.
What's a woman of a certain age to do? The white ankle top socks are simply not a good look for me.