A Pasadena Dance

The husband's band played last night. It was a gorgeous night for an outdoor concert. Perfect weather and a big crowd. I could've stayed all night... well, actually I did.

In addition to dancing my feet off, I was dancing down memory lane. Many of my childhood friends and neighbors were there. The Pasadena gang was in full force. My sister coordinated this and she was there with her husband and her real parents. Her younger sister, who was a flower girl in my first wedding, was there with her husband. Another baby, who is now a grown man, was there and I dragged him on the dance floor. Then I lapsed into Oldieville and said, "I remember your dad sitting on our front porch and telling us you were born."

I had flashbacks. Rich and Kim were two of the neighborhood gang I used to run with. Last night, you would've thought we were 8-years old again. We may be in our 40s but the party hasn't stopped. They come by it honestly. Their parents rarely left the dance floor and I'm enthralled with Nick, who has a couple of decades on me, yet he has all the best moves.

Singing and Dancing

I have never met a microphone I didn't like. I'm not great at public speaking but other than that, I have a freakish attraction to microphones. Maybe it's because the husband is in a band. Maybe it's because my mother was honest enough to tell me decades ago that I can't carry a tune and at some point I decided I don't care. I sing in my house and my car. I sing whenever I feel like it.

Years ago, I was on a girl trip with my Goldies. I think we were in Nashville, TN. Lots of musical entertainment on street corners. To their horror, I liked to join in. I know this song!

Another time, a musician was performing in our hotel lobby. He was singing Patsy Cline and I was participating so heartily that he invited me on stage. Do you think I went up there? Deb and Jan were slightly proud and partially mortified.

Dancing is another release for me. Sorry Mom, but you started it. I used to watch my mother dance around the house. I have danced on counter tops and table tops. Some gene takes over and I must move. (I have never pole danced or pranced in a cage.) As a band widow, I often attend their performances. I dance with my friends and sometimes a total stranger will ask me to dance. I usually do it and I point out my husband up on stage. It's not a dating ritual; I just like to dance.

Plus, I know all the songs so I get to sing along.

Eyesight and Hearing

The husband continues to play in a band. After 25+ years, it has taken its toll on his hearing. My hearing is fine, but admittedly, selective.

Hangdog has extremely limited vision, like shadows or nothing. However, it seems to come and go conveniently.

My vision is changing but I am quite the little girl scout. There are usually two pairs of glasses on my head and many others within reach. I am prepared.

The good news about all this aging stuff is that the husband can't hear everything I say under my breath. If I wait until he's taken his contacts out and then get undressed, I figure I'm being viewed through a fuzzy filter. Not a bad deal.

Opposite Coasts

Part of the reason the husband and I were trying to steal a little time last night is that we are headed to opposite coasts next week. We've got to coordinate some time with baby while he's home on break and my rock & roll husband has two band gigs coming up this weekend. Throw in work issues and Hangdog ... well, we're trying to be a well-oiled machine. We're failing but don't we get credit for trying?

The husband is going on a business trip to California. Several of my girlfriends are going to Florida for a winter escape. I did not plan to attend but the husband has concluded I must go. Secretly, I think he's deciding between sending me on a girlfriend trip or visiting me in the nut house. (I am not making fun of mental illness.)

So, I will go to Florida for a few days. The husband will go to California. Hangdog will be in the Home. Hangdog will call me at least five times each day.

I'm taking books and lots of work stuff. I will never turn off my cell phone. I may fed ex the dog pillow to Florida. Curling up on it gives me a strange comfort.

Cross check and call forward. I'm out of here for a few days. Of course, I will still blog.

A Band Widow

The husband has been part of a rock and roll band for more than 25 years. This is an esteemed group of people who all have prestigous jobs and families. The Meatball Band has survived marriages, divorces, parents, children, etc. Some members have come and gone but the core group and their core passion remains. They've developed a following. They've played in the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame.

I'm a band widow. By definition, that means I dance with my girlfriends or other friends' husbands. I don't have a date because my date is on the stage. (Sometimes I get really madcap and dance with strangers. I'm pretty safe; my husband is right there.)

They even have some groupies. What's up with that?

They play private parties and public venues. When they play in a public place, there is often a cover charge (which goes to the house and the band.) My standard response is, "No, thank you. I gave my pound of flesh at home." They always let me through.

It's fun to have people in your family with musical talent. I have zero. Sometimes the mother-in-law plays the piano. The husband plays the piano a lot. Sometimes we just dance on our patio.

Being a band widow is a pretty small price to pay for someone who sings and dances with you.