Sunday Dancing

Sunday, September 10th, 2017

I was in a lull. Just laying on the floor watching random youtube videos and not getting much of anything done. I don't usually have much time to waste doing nothing by myself, but this was Sunday, and, by some chance stroke of happenings, I hadn't any plans between church letting out and three o'clock, and so the day found me withering away doing absolutely nothing. Which is nice from time to time. At any rate, I looked up, or down rather, at the time display of my computer and realized it was two forty. Eh, close enough. Jumping up, grabbing my shoes in case in I'd need them, and rushing out the door to my truck was a matter of seconds, and had you been there you would have seen my windows rolled down, the radio cranked up, and my bobbing head as I made a right-hand turn onto sixth street.

Not two minutes later and I was there. Not my final destination, but just a quick little jaunt where I picked up Jex, her leash, lead, and water bowl, and was then back on the road. We cruised on over to the edge of town, her head poked out the window, enjoying all the sights and smells along the way, and pulled in to a place where a line of cars was already parked and people were milling around while others danced to the skippy music that poured out of the speakers. Jex and I hopped out and I tied her to a railing in such a way that she could still reach the big bay door that let in the cool summer breeze and sit right on the edge of where everything was happening. I spent the first couple minutes telling everybody who came over to pet her what her name was, that no it's not Jacks but Jex, (Juliet, Echo, X-ray!) how old she was, and answering various other questions people always ask when they first meet your dog. By and by almost everybody went back inside, except three people behind me talking about something or other and Charli, who was still petting Jex. The two of us sat on the thick green grass talking about various things that came up while still petting Jex, who was quite happy to stay where she was at.

And then three o'clock rolled around, Patrick opened us up with prayer, and then the two hours of Sunday dancing started in earnest. We did all sorts of different types, East Coast, Virginia Reel, Irish Washerwoman, Fox and the Hunter, and Polka to name a few. There's just enough time between dances to go down the hallway and hastily slurp some water out of the fountain there before returning to the rectangular concrete floored open space. You might think about sitting out on one or two to regain your breath, for they can be quite exhausting, especially back to back. And did I mention the Posties Jig? That's probably my favorite one, involving lots of quick skipping, spinning around, and a general fast-pace. The only thing that makes it difficult is you need exactly eight people, so if you're in the last group to form and there's not eight, you'll have to drag some more people out to the floor or else just give it up.

And, by and by, the two hours were spent and we finished dancing, not to start again until next Sunday. And that's about it. More stuff did happen that day, but I won't tell you how a bunch of us drove down to Winco, bought a couple gallons of icecream, and consumed unspecified quantities of it at the 6th street apartments, or about how we had a couple guys over for dinner and talked till the sun ran down and the moon up. No, that would be far too tedious to mention, so I'll just leave it right here, with all of us heading back to our respective vehicles at the end of another fine Sunday afternoon of dancing.