I Hope You Dance

I was feeling a little low...well, a lot low. Tired, achy, downright lazy. I think there was a bowling ball stuck in my abdomen, or something about that size and consistency. It was Saturday, and we needed to take back all the extra tile from our kitchen project. While we were at it, we also needed to pick up the flooring for our next delightful scheme: replacing the flooring in our nursery area. Which was rotten and full of old termite trails. Thankfully there were no insects still chewing on our wood, but time and water had done their worst. I was horrified when the guys ripped out some floorboards to reveal what was going on in the bowels of our home. There were roots from trees that were far from their trunks, trailing all across the floor, and evidence of decades of folks cobbling together rocks and random flotsam to keep the place upright. At least it's still standing and somewhere along the way, the termites expired. They pulled up every piece of tongue-and-groove in the room until there was only soil and history exposed. It's a good thing I love the delicious aroma of dirt -- it's now perfuming the whole place. It was at this point that we decided to head to Newnan, where there's seven things I love. Floor and Decor (one) and our youngest son and his family (the other six). Well, I like Floor and Decor, a lot, but I adore those Newnan people. Jesse helped me pick the perfect flooring, which looks for all the world like an old camp meeting cabin floor but it's made out of "luxury" vinyl. I know that C. M. Griffin (the builder of this house 121 years ago and the former mayor of Villa Rica) is going to haunt me for putting plastic in his gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian house, but there are times for economy and this might just be one. Besides, this part of the house was a sleeping porch long ago, not a parlor or conservatory. Not to mention, I'm keeping the place from falling down and that's got to count for something. 

This was not what I planned on spending this year's IRS bill on, so I might have been a little salty and blue. Sounds ocean-like, but it was definitely not. We hauled it on over to Newnan and I tried to enjoy the impossibly-pretty drive there while Ken played Eagles music. I remembered having brown skin and long hair bleached by the sun, but couldn't convince myself I was still seventeen. We had a couple of grandkids with us, and you can't stay old-fogey for long when they start singing along. Eventually we wound up at Red Robin for burgers, with our son and six of the grands, loud and excited to see each other. 

I enjoyed some serious conversation with our Jesse, who is a youth pastor at a large church in Newnan. He's always been a giant kid -- fun and happy, but somewhere along the way he became a man, serious and sincere about the things that matter, while still keeping his optimistic heart afloat. It came time to break up the party. The two ten-year-old girls were taking forever in the bathroom, so I checked on them. They were together in the handicapped stall, chatting like two magpies on steroids. I couldn't help but laugh at the range of subjects they traversed while I was there. Numerous other people came and went as I waited and tried to hurry them up. These things can take time. 

We were dutifully washing our hands in this (public) bathroom when a particularly fun and loud song came on over the loudspeaker. Maddie immediately starting dancing. I joined her, and then Eden jumped in there. The three of us whooped and giggled and cut a rug until the song ended. It was a brief, hilarious few minutes. We laughed and headed outside, where we all hugged our goodbyes and headed home. It's been a couple of days now, but I'm still bubbling with the sweet disruption to my pity party.

Sometimes, you just have to dance...