We Still Dance

Celebrating 25 years of marriage August 24, 2021 and we’re still dancing & hiking!

 

Who are we kidding? When boy meets girl, boy wants sex and girl wants to feel loved. But when the infatuation wears off, we both want the same thing. To be noticed, respected, appreciated. To fix and to help. A companion. Someone to have fun with and grow old with when no one else would have us.

Perhaps the thing we are seeking is what true love is, but seldom do we recognize what is staring us in the face. Perhaps something deep inside doesn’t want to appear desperate yet we desperately seek to be loved. Rather than share a real part of ourselves, maybe we share a fake part so the infatuated encounter remains a stranger in our mind. But are we hiding or have we exposed that we are seeking? Perhaps we believe if we let our guard down, we will be exposed and vulnerable. Vulnerable, not with the stranger, but with this opportunity placed before us to cultivate real protection, safety and love.

The dance of these decisions is challenging enough when our seed is fostered in a loving home. When it isn’t, it is harder to believe, trust, give of ourselves, and perhaps know the difference. The crossroad of these choices becomes fragile as we dance with two left feet.

Who says Prince Charming has to come on a white horse and kiss me awake to a better life? Sure, a princess dress looks pretty but I’m not a fan of bras, never mind corsets.

Rather than lying in a field of wild flowers on a sunny day dreamily waiting to be rescued by a kiss, I sat alone at a table for six in a dimly-lit room which failed to appear romantic. It was more like a dungeon of souls hoping to find Mr. or Mrs. Right, but ready to go home with Mr. or Mrs. Tonight. Divorced three years and meeting Mr. Wrong every time I turned around, I was fed up with men and empty promises. The only reason I was in this joint was to celebrate my sister and brother-in-laws fifth wedding anniversary with an evening of two-steppin’ and shooting pool. As the fifth wheel of the group, I saved our table while the other two couples shot pool.

The day I met my future, I was wearing a blue calico skirt with a white eyelet top and Tony Lama cowgirl boots from El Paso, Texas. He was wearing tight jeans and cowboy boots. His white Stetson hat, from Salt Lake City, Utah revealed his sandy blonde ponytail while his most adorable frame revealed a healthy fit male who bench pressed at the gym. He didn’t ride in on a white horse, but rather buzzed like a bee to honey as he made his way across the dance hall and asked if he could sit down. His demeanor was polite and courteous although not shy as his eyes were bright with life and possibility.

Somewhat intrigued that a man wanted to talk to me, I deemed he looked harmless enough and granted him permission to join me.

My future husband, a seasoned musician, was there scoping out the club to book a gig, not a wife. I, his future wife, was there supporting her family, not interested in making stupid small talk. After a while it occurred to me this guy wasn’t throwing me one line clichés but rather stringing complete sentences together.

I became hopeful and let my guard down until I felt a hand on my shoulder. The hand was attached to my brother-in-law Bill. Wasting no time, he looked right at this man Curtis and said, “Why are you talking to my wife?”

Honeymoon Hiking

Honeymoon Hiking

 

Honeymoon Hiking

 

Honeymoon Hiking

Divine intervention was sowing seeds in what would soon be our new garden. When he stepped into my farmhouse apartment, he stopped in his tracks. Unbeknownst to me, I’d made one of his favorite meals, beef stroganoff, and put his all-time favorite artist on my turntable. Merle Haggard.

• We both came into our union fragile and scattered.
• Uncertain and untrusting.
• Yearning and hopeful, but skeptical.