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Monthly Archives: April 2012

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stl16

Comfortable and predictable.  That’s how this year started with Dick Clark‘s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, of course, counting down to the new year. In a fleeting, giddy moment of anticipation, we wondered what 2012 held.

Transitions.  Major, life-changing transitions.

My dear in-laws were hospitalized–yet again–and we forced ourselves to accept the hard truth that they couldn’t live on their own anymore.  On Valentine’s Day–fifty-six years to the day that they welcomed their first child, the two of them moved into rehab/nursing home. Now Dad is in a family care home; Mom is still at the rehab center.

My mother’s mind is spry, but her body is definitely 84.  I don’t have a lot of time with her.

Age is messing with us, too.  We’ve had to accept our own physical as well as financial limitations this year. I now have a prescription for a cholesterol-lowering drug, a big concession for a no-meds person like me.

But the biggest personal transitions involve…

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Transitions

Posted on

Comfortable and predictable.  That’s how this year started with Dick Clark‘s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, of course, counting down to the new year. In a fleeting, giddy moment of anticipation, we wondered what 2012 held.

Transitions.  Major, life-changing transitions.

My dear in-laws were hospitalized–yet again–and we forced ourselves to accept the hard truth that they couldn’t live on their own anymore.  On Valentine’s Day–fifty-six years to the day that they welcomed their first child, the two of them moved into rehab/nursing home. Now Dad is in a family care home; Mom is still at the rehab center.

My mother’s mind is spry, but her body is definitely 84.  I don’t have a lot of time with her.

Age is messing with us, too.  We’ve had to accept our own physical as well as financial limitations this year. I now have a prescription for a cholesterol-lowering drug, a big concession for a no-meds person like me.

But the biggest personal transitions involve my kids.  Both are about to launch their new lives far away.  In a few days my daughter is graduating from college and flying to Chicago for an interview.  Her late-blooming brother just found the perfect apartment in Minneapolis to restart his life.  My birthday will be spent helping him pack.

So long comfortable, so long predictable.  Goodbye Christmas and Easter with the kids (at least for now) and New Year’s with Dick Clark.

Hello fast and furious transitions.  No choice but to take the advice of David Bowie, “Turn and face the strange changes…”

American Bandstand Forever!

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Dick Clark, thanks for all the music and memories.

Discovery Takes Flight

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We’re watching the early morning skies as Space Shuttle Discovery takes off, leaving home for the last time on a 747’s back. Farewell and godspeed!

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The Dancing Queen Has Left the Building…

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Debbie introduced me to Zumba

Sandrift Recreation Center is a magical place.  I can feel it as I walk toward the door.

You see, I am retracing my steps.  Once upon a time (in the last century), teenagers gathered there on hot summer Thursday and Saturday nights. My personal Shangri-La featured a snack counter with ice cold Cokes, a sunken dance floor and music so loud that it vibrated through your body.  I loved to dance barefoot on the cold terrazzo floors, a pure joy rush until they switched on the overhead lights at midnight.

How do I know for sure that the place is magic?  One night almost 40 years ago I fell in love–at first sight–with a boy there.  He is my husband now.

Last Thursday night I lugged my size-16 self back to this sacred spot for a Zumba class taught by my friend and co-worker Debbie.  Sandrift is a community center now for seniors and little kids.  They’ve raised the sunken dance floor and traded the snack counter for a vending machine.

Hey baby, the Dancing Queen was back in the house!  The lively Zumba music began, and I stepped into action.  Whoa!  My body instantly stiffened and I struggled to move.   Every movement took such effort.  My knees decided early on that they were not going to cooperate, not even with a sloppy sidestep.  But I kept going.  Zumba I must!

We were 50 minutes into the 55-minute class when I finally loosened up a bit.  For a moment, the old joy rush returned (even though I was wearing shoes).  Thanks to the magic spell of the place or my daily baby aspirin, I did not keel over.

I’d put my money on the magic spell theory.