Dancing

Another Monday night of watching Dancing with the Stars. When I was working at night, I rarely got to see a television show regularly, and now I can. What fun! Dancing is entertaining and happy - usually. It was always a special part of my small family when I was growing up. My mother loved pop music and was always dancing around the house. In our living room, she taught me the samba and the chacha and how to be led by a male partner. Daddy often joined us. I went to ballroom classes where I learned the fox trot, the waltz and even the Charleston. I was no better than average, but my lack of greatness did not prevent me from enjoying it. (I eventually figured out that my brain does not configure instructions very well.) The shag became the dance of my generation and from eighth grade on we had school dances that included sock hops. In college, weekend fraternity parties often had bands playing either as the main event or in a corner somewhere, and I loved them as I was a dancer, not a drinker. Dancing is such good exercise and I am sure it must release a lot of those good feeling endorphins, even when we watch others in motion on the small screen.