My Kitchen is for Dancing

Dancing through the joy. Dancing through the pain. Dancing through the laughter. Dancing through the tears. Dancing through the praise. Dancing through the worship.

Dancing has been a part of the human existence since biblical times. It is used to express joy, grief, excitement, love, and much, much more.

Growing up in a strict, fundamental Baptist home, dancing was prohibited. All dancing. Period. The problem was, I loved to dance. LOVED it. I danced all over my room. All over my friend’s basement. Anywhere I was able to find strong dancing music, I danced.

In high school, I discovered a country music dance hall. I learned every country line dance, two-step and ten step this side of the Mississippi, and then some. I learned to break dance. I learned to do the American Bunny Hop. Whatever the dance, I absorbed it like a sponge, my feet begging to do and re-do the new steps until they came to me as second nature.

By college, I had joined the ballroom dance club. During this bit of Heaven every Saturday night, I learned the Swing, the Foxtrot, the Tango, the Waltz, and many more.

My dancing bliss came to a stop when I graduated college, got married, and started a new job. All of a sudden there was no reason to dance. No place to dance. No one with whom to dance. It just stopped. And I was sad.

Although I still enjoyed the thought of dancing, I had no place to go. Unless you are into the club scene (which I am not,) adults are severely limited on dance hall options. The best I could hope for was a wedding (non Baptist of course,) and someone to ask me to dance (JP does NOT like to dance.)

Once I had my own classroom, I taught my students the Swing and the Waltz. I explained that with those two dances, they would be able to dance at any function, and look great while doing it. I have had several come back to me, thanking me for the lessons. They have used them at school dances, weddings, balls, and many more functions. Although I taught my students to dance, I still had found no outlet for myself.

One day, while listening to the radio, it happened. I started dancing. Alone. And it was okay. I danced my little self all over the house while I cleaned. I used moves I had not done in years. Since I was alone, no one commented, smirked or laughed. I became Ginger Rogers in my very own home.

From that day on, I danced. I found that my kitchen was especially good for my dancing steps. Whether they be line dance steps or waltzes, my kitchen was perfect.

Now, everyday, I dance. I dance while I make meals. I dance while I wash dishes. I dance while I help Little Bug with her homework. I dance while we play Trivial Pursuit. I dance with Little Bug. I dance with L1. I dance with TC. I dance with CJ. And yes, finally, I dance with JP.

This man, who cannot STAND dancing, will now dance with me. As we sway back and forth in the kitchen to one of my favorite songs, my husband will smile down at me, knowing that I am in an utterly joyous state.

My love of dancing has been passed down to Little Bug, who begs her daddy to dance with her, and he obliges. JP takes Little Bug’s hands in his, holds her closely, and dances around our kitchen while she looks trustingly and adoringly up into his eyes.

Yes, my kitchen is made for dancing.  But more importantly, it is made for all the living that is done in it each day.

May you never stop dancing. If you do not dance, it is never too late to start. Go ahead; give it a try in your kitchen. Free yourself from constraints. Live your life to the fullest, and dance.

“You can dance anywhere, if only in your heart” ~Unknown

~Annie

A Respite

Merriam-Webster defines the word “respite” as being an interval of rest. We each need a time of respite from our daily lives. God took this time on the seventh day, after He had created our world.

A respite may come in several forms. Perhaps a long relaxing cruise….a getaway to a relatives home for a week….five minutes locked in the bathroom away from the demands of your family while you consume a stashed candy bar. Whatever your situation, there is always a time and a place for a respite.

Our family works very hard. Everyday. JP drives a three hour round trip to work a nine-hour day as an engineer. CJ walks miles a day delivering mail. TC gets up and is on the air before most of the world is even conscious. L1 attends school fulltime as well as holding down a regular job and several side jobs taking care of children. Little Bug tries her best everyday at school. I keep our home running, preparing meals, cleaning, doing laundry, taking care of our family, homestead and animals, and working part time as an agronomist.

Each one of us works hard. Each of us has a good work ethic. Each one of us needs a break. Our break comes in the form of a weekend getaway to a local state park inn. The big feature of the state park is its toboggan run. The big feature of the inn is the pool. While pricey if JP and I were to take Little Bug alone, it is much more manageable by traveling with our eclectic family.

We are able to afford the costs by sharing our getaway with our family. We add up the room, food, and gasoline costs, splitting them by five (the number of adults on the trip- Little Bug Does not count.) In that way, we are able to save money, while at the same time, having the opportunity to have a mini vacation.

I encourage you to take a respite. If possible, plan some time away with your family or good friends. If not possible, take a little bit longer than needed stroll through the grocery. Whatever your situation, find some time to take a break from the everyday.

As Etty Hillesum said, “Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths, or the turning inwards in prayer for five short minutes.”

Enjoy your weekend, my friends.

~Annie

Annie’s Chickens

I grew up with chickens as a part of my everyday life. As long as I could remember, there was always a chicken coop somewhere in the backyard. Always a rooster and a few hens. Always fresh eggs.

To me, chickens are a soothing presence. The clucks, the struts, the cackles, the crows. All of it combines into a little taste and remembrance of fond memories of my childhood. Within a week of moving to our little homestead, I proudly came home with a mama hen and her 10 little chicks. JP just sighed and built a coop. I was in chicken heaven.

If you are thinking of joining the growing trend of owning your own chickens for eggs, meat, or pure enjoyment, there are several questions to keep in mind.

First of all, what is the purpose of your soon-to-be flock?  The answer to this question will lead you down the right path of selecting the ideal breed. 

If you are looking for a meat bird, a Cornish Cross could be for you. Cornish Cross are ready for butchering within 6-8 weeks. They are raised specifically as a meat bird. Be prepared to pour the feed into them towards the end of the 6-8 weeks. Poultry has a feed to meat ratio of 2:1, meaning that for every two pounds of feed you give your chicken, it will gain 1 pound of meat. I find my Cornish Cross to be plump in the breast and the thigh area. Perfect for stewing, roasting, or frying. Warning: In my experience, Cornish Cross chickens are VERY aggressive. I do not allow Little Bug to help me care for this group of chickens. I also keep them separated from the other breeds, as they will attack and peck at will.

If fresh eggs are your goal, I recommend Araucana chickens. These gentle ladies take almost a year to mature, but once they do, they will lay you the most beautiful eggs ever seen. Blue, green, pinkish, and yellowish brown, the eggs are so colorful that it almost seems a shame to eat them. However, once you do, you will be amazed at the rich, full flavor.

If you would like to raise a breed that will give you both meat and eggs, I recommend Buff Orpingtons. While not as meaty as the Cornish Cross, Buffs have a wonderful disposition, lay beautiful brown eggs, and are good in a stew pot.

Secondly, where will you be keeping your flock? Will you build them a coop? Will they be free range? I have had chickens both ways, and I have found that my ladies are happiest in their coop. They feel safe and lay better. In the winter months, they nestle amongst the hay and enjoy the heat lamps. In the summer, they go outside to catch a cool breeze. If they are in a coop, I have an easier time finding the eggs as well. Make sure to keep your coop clean and loaded with fresh straw or hay and plenty of fresh water.

If you decide to allow your chickens to free range, make sure you have plenty of room for them to roam. Unless you have very understanding neighbors, you do not want your chickens roaming away. It is not fair to the chickens or your neighbors. Also, be sure that you have fresh water available for them at all times, as well as shelter from bad weather.

Lastly, where will you obtain your chickens? I usually purchase mine through a local feed store of farm store. While you can get them through mail order, you do run the risk of them arriving dead or injured. By selecting them at the farm store, you can handpick the best ones for your new flock.

When ordering, you will be asked if you want a straight or mixed run. A straight run will be all one gender. This is ideal if you are ordering for egg layers. A mixed run will be a mix of hens and roosters. They are usually cheaper and are fine for meat birds.

If you decide to invest in egg layers, I HIGHLY recommend obtaining a rooster. Any breed will do, as long as the rooster has a good disposition and can control his lady friends. We have a Bantam rooster that keeps all nine of our hens in line. Without him, the hens were constantly fighting and pecking at each other. Once our rooster was introduced into the coop, the hens settled down into a much more peaceable existence. Make sure that you have a friendly rooster. This is essential to the happiness of your coop. This can be done by raising a mixed run and noting the friendliest rooster as the one to keep. Note: Our rooster needs a break from his ladies every now and then. Every day he takes himself over to the goat pen to hang out with Ellie the goat. I have found that by allowing him to do this, he is a much happier, stress-free rooster. This may be true for your rooster as well.

There are several breeds of chickens from which to choose. I have shared with you the breeds that work best for my situation. Each situation is different. I urge you to research which breeds are best for you.

Remember, Frank Lloyd Wright said, “Regard it just as desirable to build a chicken house as it is to build a cathedral.”

Enjoy your new additions and stay tuned for a future post on how to care for your new chickens once you get them home.

~Annie

Educational Board Games

We have always played games with Little Bug. Even as an infant we would include her in family games. With my background in education (M.Ed, B.Ed,) many games that we have gotten specifically for her have an educational value.

With the introduction of household computers and personal game systems, I do realize that board games of any sort are out of vogue. However, JP and I have always loved games, both firmly standing on the grounds that they promote unity amongst the family unit.

We run the gamut of games that we play with Little Bug…Memory…Go Fish…Monopoly…State Geography…World Geography…Aggravation….Trivial Pursuit…and the list goes on.

People may think that a six year old is too young for some of the games on this list, but with a little guidance, Little Bug has become quite proficient at all of them.

As she plays each game, I can almost see her little mind at work, calculating, counting, making decisions, searching for the correct answer. All of this adds up to a wonderful way to teach our daughter the thinking skills she will need to be successful in life.

I have witnessed her using the aforementioned skills to work out problems presented to her by her classroom teacher. I have watched in awe as she has answered Final Jeopardy questions correctly with the knowledge she has learned as a result of game time. These skills and facts did not just show up one day. They were introduced and taught.

Playing board games also teaches the valuable lessons of winning (or losing) well, good sportsmanship, honesty, taking turns, and encouraging one another. It builds character. We have never "thrown" a game to allow her to win. this makes the moment she actually DOES win all the sweeter.

JP and I may seem backward to today’s thinking. We do not buy into the TV/computer/video game babysitter method. We believe that a child learns best when fully engaged with other human beings.

Educational games CAN be expensive, however, I find them quite often at thrift stores and garage sales. Sadly most are hardly used, if even opened.

As you look for ways to bond and grow closer to your children while at the same time bolstering their academic achievement, I highly recommend trying out some educational games. If you do not know where to start or which game to purchase, contact me and I will give you some suggestions.

It is never too late to start playing board games with your children. While you may at first be met with eye rolls and loud sighing, overtime they will learn to enjoy it. Perhaps they will even look forward to it, as Little Bug does.

As Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Intelligence plus character-that is the goal of true education.” Well said, Dr. King. Well said.

~Annie

In Pursuit of Trivia (And A Reconnect To My Family)

Our family leads a pretty docile life. Some would label it boring. I think it is just heavenly.

The twins arrive home by around 4:00 p.m., which is when Little Bug and I return from Grandma’s house. As Little Bug does her homework, I start supper and the twins ready the Trivial pursuit board. We then play, 2 teams, 1 floater (usually me), and as many questions as we can get through before suppertime.

I have always loved trivia. LOVED it. My problem was that no one would play any trivia games with me. Ever. I had over 10 different trivia games, including at least six different versions of Trivial Pursuit, but no one to play against. Enter CJ and TC, aka “the twins.”

The twins love Trivial Pursuit. Probably almost as much as I do. Within a few months, we had wiped out the versions I had, so I ordered a pack of twelve sets of cards off of ebay (TWELVE!!!) and we were back in business.

There is something cathartic about the routine of playing Trivial Pursuit as I prepare our supper. It exudes a feeling of comfort. Of safety. Of home.

We are all about evenly matched in our knowledge of all things trivia. We each have our strong categories (Science and Nature, here I come, woohoo!) and our not-so-strong categories (it is a miracle whenever I get a Sports question correct.)

We give hints with abandon. We debate what the correct answer might be. We each have our tells (everyone watches Little Bug read the answer, in hopes that she will sound out the word.) We have made up our own rules as to how and when a piece can be earned. The pure Trivial Pursuit players would be aghast. We think it is a lovely way to decompress from the day’s events.

One of the best features of playing Trivial Pursuit is that it brings us closer together. It is free to play. We are learning new facts, daily. It starts conversations that we otherwise would never have, (because seriously, how many times does the dollar amount of a double eagle coin come into conversational play? Answer: $20.) It bonds us together as a family.

While computers, video games, and television are all wonderful inventions, they must be used carefully. It is too easy to allow ourselves to each slip into an isolated world, all together, yet alone. Board games bring the family unit (whatever it may be) back together.

Perhaps Trivial Pursuit is not your cup of tea. Maybe you like Monopoly, cards, or Scrabble. If you have a hard time thinking of a game that you might want to play, think back to your childhood and start with your favorite game from that time of your life.

Borrow it from someone. Check it out of your library. Gift it to a friend . Dig it out of the basement or attic. Whatever the game, just give it a try.

With the crumbling of families on the rise, use game time to reconnect with your loved ones. Remind yourself what it is about them that you adore.

As Albert Einstein said, “Rejoice with your family in the beautiful land of life!”

~Annie

The Weekend I Became Qualified To Fight In The American Revolution

While I normally come off as a Susie homemaker type, once in awhile I surprise even myself with hobbies and passions I didn’t realize that I loved until I have experienced them. This is the first of several posts that I will write in the coming months about said passions.

This past fall, life, as I know it, once again paused for Shooting Sports weekend. Unbeknownst to the majority of the population of Indiana, a group of dedicated volunteers meet twice a year at Camp Ross in West Lafayette to teach adults how to be safe and effective shooting sports instructors.

Of course these instructors had never met me, or they would have run for the hills. Or perhaps they HAD heard of me and were hatching plans of escape. Whatever the case might have been, L1 and I gathered our things and headed down to West Lafayette to meet up with Laporte County for a geriatric supper at 330 in the afternoon.

You may ask WHY we were eating so early, but with the check in time being at 5 p.m. CST, we seem to always eat at 3:30 in the afternoon on the Friday of shooting sports camp. (I look at it as a training run for learning to beat the crowds to supper once I am finally able to brandish that senior discount. ;)

Upon arriving at camp, L1 and I parked the van and went to check in. I am not really sure how we managed it, but we sort of cut in front of twenty or so people in our eagerness to start the weekend. Our reunion with Chris was heartfelt; as was every other reunion we had that weekend. L1 and I were assigned room 9.

I had been in room 9 the first go round, so I was well aware of the bed from H-E double hockey sticks that was stuck in the corner. It looked innocent enough, until you crawled into it. At that point you realized its capacity to be a torture chamber. I artfully avoided said bed, and opted for another, snagging top bunk. L1 selected the bunk beneath mine, and we were good to go.

Lynn, from Laporte County, was concerned that she may not be placed in our room. I told her to just ask Chris to PLEASE put her in with us. With a bit of finagling, Chris made it happen. Just another reason I love state staff. They truly do care, even about the seemingly little things.

As is par for the course every Friday evening of camp, it started pouring down rain while we unloaded the van. It only took us three trips. That must be a record. I am notorious for over packing for the weekend, but I see it this way: I am going to be outside all weekend, never knowing if it will be cold, hot, wet, dry, etc. I want to have everything I MIGHT need to be as comfortable as possible. There used to be a time where I could pack for a 10-day mission trip across the country with only one small duffel bag. Sigh. I must be getting old. ;)

  

I retired to room 9 to attempt sleep, however the sounds of snoring, paired with the bed conditions kept sleep at bay. With no cell service, I just laid there, wondering what in the world I was thinking when I signed up for muzzleloader class.

Muzzleloaders are great things. Really. They are. The problem is that they are really big. And loud. And messy. And loud. And heavy. Did I mention that they are LOUD?!? I had shot one once, in the spring. I had almost freaked out at the very THOUGHT of shooting it, but somehow muscled my way through it.

Truth be known, I didn’t even WANT to take muzzleloaders. The only reason I did, was because it was the last discipline that Jeremy needed to take, and I always go to class with Jeremy, so hesitantly I signed up.

I finally left the grandiose idea of sweet slumber behind and got ready for the ¼ mile hike to go to coffee hour. I love coffee hour at camp. It is such a gathering of fantastic people at 530 in the morning (430 CST). We all gather round the coffee pot, teasing and chatting until breakfast is served at 7 am. I look forward to the time to get to visit with shooting sports instructors from across the state.

At last, it was time to head off to class. After a few words of welcome from Tim, we were dismissed to our classrooms. I made no secret of the fact that I was in muzzleloader class solely on the fact that Jeremy was there and since he was my protector, I was hoodwinked into signing up as well. As I entered the class, I told the instructors that my name was Annie and this was Jeremy and we came as a matched set. They all just looked at me like I was a tad crazy, but agreed to let me stay glued to him for the time being.

Being the OCD girl that I am, I listened closely, taking several pages of notes, as there was to be a 100-question test at 9 pm. We practiced loading the muzzleloader, using a Pringles can, felt and a tennis ball. We learned the rules of firearm safety. We learned the steps to shooting a firearm. I learned that I can only take in so many facts at one time or my head will spin. When I felt that I was most surely at the breaking point, the instructors announced it was time to go to the range.

The previous evening, I had tried out my amplified ear protection. They made it possible to hear everything going on around me, but muffling the shots when the firearms went off. What a great idea! I also realized that my usual hairstyle wasn’t going to work very well. The bobby pins hurt my head with the earmuffs on, so I switched to braids with success. Of course I then looked like Pippi Longstocking, but I didn’t even care. I was aiming for comfort, not style. ;)

Lois, Jerry, Doug, and Mark were wonderful instructors. The rest of the class (6 guys) were very familiar with firearms and seemed to not be intimidated in the least by the very loud and heavy muzzleloaders that were set before us. In contrast, I was out and out scared. Thoughts raced through my mind…what if I loaded it wrong? What if it blew up in my face? What if I was horrible at aiming?…ugh.

I watched as Jeremy loaded the muzzleloader…first the powder…then the patch…then the ball…the tamping….so much tamping! FINALLY we were ready to go to the firing line. As “coach”, I was dutifully beside him, pretending to know what I was doing. Mercifully, Jeremy quietly told me what to do so I could then loudly tell HIM. This is exactly why I have always stuck close to Jeremy at these camps. He never makes me feel stupid. He always encourages me.

Jeremy aimed and fired, hitting his target. I was so excited for him that I hopped around and clapped. Jeremy was used to this behavior, but the others weren’t. Boy, were THEY in for an education!

As usual, I was last at trying my hand at the whole muzzleloader experience. I always like to go last so I can watch everyone else to make sure I do it correctly. I loaded my inline muzzleloader, being careful to include every step. I then marched to the firing line, Jeremy right behind me. Shaking, I looked Jeremy in the eye and asked if the muzzleloader would hurt me. He told me no, it wouldn’t. I made him promise. He promised. I then turned, aimed, and fired, keeping both eyes open until the last second.

After the voluminous smoke had cleared, and the large boom had faded away into the distance, I heard the faint squeaking of the metal gong target swinging back and forth. I started screaming and jumping up and down, celebrating my victory over fear once more. I happily returned to the bench to clean the barrel and move on to the side lock percussion muzzleloader.

Every time it was my turn, I relished in the routine and exactness of the muzzleloading. I also hit 7 of my 8 shots throughout the day, squealing with joy every time. Apparently all of the other disciplines got to share in my joy, as many came up to me later, stating that they knew when I had hit something, because they heard me screaming and clapping. So glad they got to share in the joy!

After lunch, we learned the history of the muzzleloader. Jerry knew so much about the history, that I wish we would have had more time to delve further into the topic. During this time, I was allowed to hold a pistol that was used in the revolutionary war. I found it all so fascinating and foreign, yet I knew I was slowly falling in love with muzzleloaders…the history…the routine…the exactness, everytime….sigh…. I was in OCD heaven!

In the afternoon we had the opportunity to shoot a muzzleloading pistol, a flintlock, and a matchlock musket. The matchlock was seriously as tall I was. It also held a HUGE ball. There was no cap for the matchlock. Instead, the was a smoldering piece of rope that touched off the black powder…right in front of YOUR FACE. I somehow missed THAT important piece of information. One minute I am sitting there all excited about shooting the biggest firearm of my life, the next, I am wondering what in the world happened, and did I still have my eyebrows? I joyously celebrated my actually shooting off such a large gun, and moved on. It was a good 20 minutes later before Lois informed me that I had actually HIT the target! I had been so preoccupied taking inventory of my face that I had not even looked to see if I hit something. I celebrated like it was 1999 let me tell you!

One of my favorite parts of muzzleloading was cleaning the firearms. Given I was terrible at it, but I enjoyed trying it anyway. I even got to reassemble a muzzleloader all on my own! I am sure that JP will love to put my new skill to use in the very near future.

After a wonderful supper of prime rib, the muzzleloading class took a spin on the even more primitive side, and learned to throw tomahawks. I do believe I have found my niche. I OWNED those boys on tomahawks. They may be better at firearms, but I was all over the tomahawk throwing. I threw them forwards. I threw them backwards. I threw them double. I rocked the tomahawks!!! Woo to the HOOOOOO!!!!!!

After the fun of tomahawks, we went back to class to study for the test that we took at 9pm. By this point, I had so much information in my poor head, that it just shutdown. I was not able to jam anything else in. Trepidatiously I took the 100 question test from Lois and began. By the time I turned it in, I was shaking and near tears. I waited with dread as the instructors graded it. I had walked into the class that morning, knowing nothing about muzzleloaders. I had now, 14 hours later, taken a test that I needed to pass to become a certified instructor. I scored 99 out of 100. While not a perfect score, I was still happy that I passed.

Knowing that we were going to have to plan a teaching practicum for the next day, I had already written up suggestions for what we should do. The boys agreed with the plan. After breaking it all up into parts and assigning roles, we all went to bed, thankful for the rest.

Sunday morning, after an early coffee run, I headed to church at 615 est. that is 515 CST. I am pretty sure that was the earliest church service that I have ever attended. It is also ranked among the best. While waiting for the church to be unlocked, a group of us gathered outside to gaze at the stars. Such beauty to behold in the heavens.

As Dennis welcomed us to church, I prayed the opening prayer and led us in an opening hymn. Usually we just listen to the sermon and leave. This time we had asked ahead of time if we could sing as well. After an amazing and convicting sermon from Dennis, we sang hymn after hymn, all from memory….some just humming along when words were forgotten. I do not think I have ever felt as close to God as I did, sitting in that little white chapel at 630 in the morning, raising our voices in praises to our Lord. We closed our time together singing the Doxology.

As the weekend wrapped up, we went through graduation, receiving our patches and diplomas. I was so proud and happy to have not only passed, but to have done so successfully.

It was at this point that it sank in…I was effectively shooting a type of firearm that men and women, hundreds of years ago, used as well. I had fallen in love with muzzleloading. Sometime between my scared scurry into class Saturday morning and my confident demeanor on Sunday afternoon, the love of muzzleloading had snuck into my life.

The historical significance….the repetition…the exactness…the feel of the firearm in my hands…the flash…the smoke…the smell…all of it represented so much more to me than just a simple firearm going off. It represented hundreds, even thousands of years of firearms. It represented that once more I was able to brave my fears, facing them dead on and claiming victory over them. It represented that each day that I am willing to leave my comfort zone and open myself to vulnerability and the chance of failing, I am also able to open myself to the successes and triumphs that lay in wait along my path in life.

I am not saying that each of us will fall in love with muzzleloading as I have. However, I AM saying that once in awhile, each of us need to choose the road less traveled, for we know not what may lay ahead. If a middle aged Susie homemaker housewife from the Midwest can lay down her apron for a weekend to try her hand at muzzleloading, a concept that is completely foreign to her, imagine what YOU can do in YOUR life.

As Robert Frost famously wrote, “I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” I challenge you today…don’t only TAKE the road less traveled….CHARGE it. Charge forward. Try something new. Something out of your comfort zone. Something that you have secretly wished to do. Take a class. Take a trip. Pick up the phone. Whatever your road less traveled may be, take with you this, from Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Rage, my friends. Rage. Challenge each day of your life, living it to the fullest.

Swing Dancing

Dancing the night away…..

One Friday a month, TC, L1 and I make the three-hour drive to Indianapolis to attend the Fountain Square Friday Night Swing Dance.

Since we are making the trip anyway, we try to leave early enough to hit a few stores before heading to Fountain Square. This is always very exciting for me since I hardly ever venture out of our small little town for ANY type of shopping, let alone the type of shopping where you wander around, not really looking for anything in particular.

Once our stomachs start demanding food, we head on over to the Fountain Square district. This recently revitalized area of Indianapolis is home to several quaint, and sometimes eclectic, cafes. Everything from Thai food to Mexican food to pizza is offered up within walking distance of the Fountain Square theatre building. The food is fabulous, the wait staffs are excellent, and the prices low. What is there not to love?

Finally the time arrives to make our way to the dance hall. While we wait in line with fellow dancers, we chat about the upcoming festivities. Who will be there? Will our table be free? What band will be playing?

The theater slowly fills with people of all ages and of all levels of experience. Lessons are offered the first hour of the dance. In this way, everyone that attends can join in the fun with at least the basic swing steps.

As the live band starts to play the big band music of a long ago era, couples fill the dance floor. The regulars are there…the college swing dance clubs…the older couples that make this their date night…the fathers dancing with their little girls.

The newbies are there as well…stumbling, trying again, counting out loud with fierce looks of determination. All are welcome and made to feel at home.

This is our safe place. The place where we can all dance to our capability level, never being laughed at, or made fun of. This is our place to learn new steps. To be encouraged as we try challenging moves. To enjoy the comradery that only comes from sharing in a pastime about which we are all so very passionate.

TC takes turns dancing with L1 and me. We also take turns dancing with other attendees. No request to dance is ever turned down. Throughout the night, high school seniors will be seen enjoying a dance with senior citizens. Experienced instructors will be dancing with novices. We are all joined by our mutual love of the steps.

As the evening winds down, we each dance our final dances for the month, sadly bidding farewell to the Fountain Square Theater. We leave exhilarated, exhausted, and starving.

We remedy the last issue with a late night-early morning breakfast at Peppy’s diner, just a short walk from the dance hall. Peppy’s is always open. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Our waiter, Eric, is always there, cooking for, and joking with, the patrons as they come through the door. Peppy’s is a historical landmark of Fountain Square, having been in business since the 1950s. Each time we go, I put money in the jukebox, select my songs, and ask Eric to dance. While visibly nervous, he always accepts. Just another added charm of this little diner.

While we eat, we chat with Eric about life, getting caught up on the news. TC and I also watch as Eric flirts ferociously with L1. Ahh…young love….so wasted on youth. ;-)

On our way home, we crank the radio and have a three-hour sing-a-long until we arrive safely. We are exhausted but happy. Our time together is precious. I love making memories with members of my eclectic family. I love the time we spend laughing, teasing, and dancing. I love our sweet time together, living life to the fullest.

As Martha Graham said, “Dance is the hidden language of the soul.”

~Annie