when I dance with my husband of almost 44 years, he does everything to ensure that I don’t know the next step, to keep me on my toes, so to speak.  He doesn’t do that with other women, and he doesn’t do that in our life, so I think he’s training me for war.  

“There’s going to be a war at the end of the holidays!” I’ve said to friends, who didn’t even acknowledge my cry with a question.  “Don’t go into Gaza,” I’ve been screaming for the past three weeks, and now I’ve begun to breathe because I see just a bit of logic in our movements. I kept thinking we were like the British Army in the American Revolution, standing in formation to shoot while the wily Americans shot from behind. 

All this I learned from getting caught up in the music while getting my foot stepped on repeatedly while dancing with my husband.

I still love dancing with him!