the old lady's still got it

And that, my friends, is a subject line that I just couldn't resist. But, at the same time, it's strangely accurate. Last night, for the first time in months, I went swing dancing. Not just standing there watching other people dancing, but full-out dancing type dancing.

It was a strange progression of an evening. After work I made my way down to the Hope Lodge, a really groovy organization that provides free lodging to cancer patients and their families who have come to GR for the hospital(s). My old roommate and some other people from her office provide dinner for the residents once a month. She received a last-minute word that, after dinner, there would be a swing band, and they were looking for dancers. I proceeded to drag up as many hipsters as I could. And, after dinner, naturally, we trickled down to the band.

There was a huge swing band--about twenty people--with their very own conductor. All older folk. And they played sloooooow. And the conductor talked between each song. We determined this was because 1) the band just couldn't physically play any faster and 2) the conductor was giving them breaks so no one in the band keeled over from the strain.

But still, it was nice to provide a little entertainment to the dozen or so patients who came to sit and listen. We had our own little audience of one out in the lobby, where we had elected to stay, and she seemed very happy to watch us.

This wrapped up about eight, and that's when things got interesting. One of the other dancers mentioned that there was more dancing in another venue. After an interesting twenty minutes of trying to find parking downtown and ending up in the wrong lane and parking at Burger King, we found ourselves at another swing dance--and instantly went from being the youngest folks to being the oldest. The Grand Rapids Tuesday night swing gang, mostly composed of high school kids and a few college punks, took over the Van Andel museum for the evening. It was fantastic and crowded--a couple hundred exuberant young people--with music at least three times faster than what we had just left. Albeit from a stereo, not a band, but at least we didn't have to worry about killing the band.

All warmed up from our "slow" session, we proceeded to cut many, many rugs, until ten. Ten is when I turn into a pumpkin and have to go home. And...that's when the music stopped. They make you leave when the music stops.

It's funny what bits and pieces are sore the next day when one participates in a strenuous physical activity one has not practiced in some time. In this case: my right hand. My left glute. Hmm.

But at least I don't have a shiner--there was a couple minutes last night when I thought I might. And at least I showed those kids that this old lady's still got it.