Sunday, November 6, 2016

What I Did With My Extra Hour Today

Oh my, it's been too long since I've paid attention to you.   October got away from me without a single post.   For me, writing is like exercising.  If I am not disciplined and diligent, I get lazier and lazier to the point of inertia.
Since we turned the clocks back this morning, I have this extra hour to spend, so here I am.
I am sitting in my lazy chair, the one I mold into when I'm obsessively knitting, just one more row, just one more row.  Before I know it, it’s too late to go to my aerobics class.  Inertia.
My lazy chair is a well-worn high back wing.  It's in front of the fireplace in our living/family room.  Although this morning there is a little nip in the air, it’s not chilly enough for a fire.
Our fall weather has been perfect.  Cool mornings followed by cozy sun-warmed afternoons.
I am wrapped up in my soft fluffy red robe.  My knees are propped up to provide a lap for my laptop.
My Contigo tea mug with the blue top is tucked into the corner of the chair.  It's filled with "Relaxing Honey Vanilla Bliss" by Teekanne Herbal Wellness Teas.
Now and then I take a thoughtful sip pondering what the heck I am going to write about.   As I sip and ponder, I gaze out the front door sidelight windows,  hypnotized by the gentle swaying of brilliant ruby and gold maple leaves.
I must admit I am doing more gazing than writing.
Ross is in the kitchen fighting with Rico.  It's medicine time.  "There's no biting!" Ross admonishes.
Pretty soon I will have to move to the kitchen.  Rico won't eat his food unless I am sitting at the kitchen table.  It's one of his quirks.
Lately, I've been doing a lot of knitting. Truth is, knitting is and has been a big part of my life.  For me, I suppose it's similar to blogging.   It satisfies a creative need.  Many times it has been an emotional support for me.  Like bloggers, knitters also have a supportive community. I am a member of a website called Ravelry.

Ravelry is a place for knitters, crocheters, designers, spinners, weavers and dyers to keep track of their yarn, tools, project and pattern information, and look to others for ideas and inspiration.

Ravelry has 6,597,646 registered users. 981,114 Ravelers have been active during the last 30 days.

Wow, huh?  Over six million knitters and crocheters.

Now, within the knitting community, there are the knitting podcasters.  They are also a tight-knit  community.
I have become obsessed with watching knitting podcasts.  There are hundreds and hundreds of them on YouTube.  I find it interesting  that they all follow the exact same format.  I wonder why that is.
Anyway, I fantasize about doing one myself.  Then, I wonder why I want to do one.  Hmmm, lots of introspection surrounds that question.
Perhaps I feel that venturing into the knitting podcast world would provide the same comradery for me that being part of my bloggy family has.
You see no one close to me is a knitter.  None of my sisters knit.  My daughter doesn't.  I tried teaching my granddaughter but she's into other things, which I thoroughly understand. 
Actually, my knitting companion happens to be Ross.  He encourages me by oohing  and aahing about my latest projects.  He is genuinely interested, but he refuses to learn how to knit!
I do belong to the needlecraft group in our community.  They are a great bunch of friendly and welcoming women.  They all do beautiful work.  Even though I am around the same age as most of them, they are of a different knitting generation than the Ravelry and  Knitting Podcast folks.  By that I mean they are used to doing things the way they always did and seem to be hesitant to try new things.  Which is okay.
But, not only do I want to talk about what I'm working on, I also want to learn about the newest techniques, where to find the finest hand dyed yarn, and what the latest designs are.
That's what the knitting podcasters do.  I guess that's what I want to do.
Okay, I have to come clean, I, well Ross and I, do have experience with podcasting.  Our "show" is called Sundays With Lynda & Ross. It is mainly entertainment.  Since we don't have a lot of viewers, it mostly for our own amusement.  And perhaps our great-grandchildren might come across our videos one day.
But, to go solo with a podcast, For this shy introvert, though, it might be a stretch, a real reach outside of my comfort zone.  If I can summon up the courage, I'll let you know.
Anyway, my free hour is up.  I think I'll get dressed and instead of gazing out the window, I'll step outside the door.
By the way, I realized something just now, I missed you! :)

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Tears Falling On The Feathery Fringe of His Black & Gray Scarf

Ten years ago, to give as Christmas presents,  I ordered tee shirts and scarves, custom embroidered in red, white and green lettering with "Christmas 2006 Proud Member of Priscilla's Clan".
 Priscilla is my mom.
We gave each of her children, sons and daughters-in-law, grandchildren, and step grandchildren one or another of the embroidered items.  I think I remember Mom being surprised about the whole thing.

Last night Anne asked me if I'd like the "Priscilla's Clan"  tee shirt, the one I gave to Joe that Christmas 10 years ago.
"Oh yes," I said.
"You know I had to empty the attic because I was having some work done," she explained.
"I had boxes of Joe's clothes stored there.  They're downstairs for now.  There are other things if you want to...," her voice trailed off.
I hesitated for a minute, trying to emotionally remove myself from what she was asking.
She got up to head to the basement.  She turned towards me with a hesitancy of her own.
Unspoken words floated through the air between us.
I followed her, distracted by her red strappy heels as she carefully made her way down the steps.
The boxes were stacked, one on top of another.  Clear plastic ones, with colorful tops.
The kids were down there playing.  Domani chattering away with his cousins.
I would glance at the boxes, then look away towards Domani, smiling at his antics.
Now, as I try to recall what I was feeling, I have an image of  myself, alone, sitting on the floor, as I carefully take out each piece of him one by one, hold each one next to me in an embrace, not wanting to let go.
I remember the last night I was with him.  We were all there.  All of us who achingly loved Joe, none of us, not one of  wanting to let him go.
I will always regret that I didn't have my alone time with him that night.  Perhaps I thought I would have more time.  He promised me that, you know.
Now, as she and I were focused on the boxes, but not really on the boxes, I felt awkward.  I think she sensed that I might want to look through the boxes.  She took the top off of one.  My eyes were instantly drawn to feathery halos of soft gray fingers of fringe laying somewhere near the bottom of the box.
She began to gently lift the rows of neatly folded items, looking for the Priscilla shirt.
She found it and handed it to me.   I took it and held it close.
She told me that she had already picked out a group of his tee's.   She was going to have a quilt made for Domani.
I liked that idea very much and told her that.
She was about to put the lid back on the box.  "If there's anything else..."
I asked if she knew about a scarf that I had made for Joe, all the while knowing that it was the one down at the bottom of the box.  The one that the halo of gray fringe was attached to.  But I didn't want to intrude.  Funny, now that I think about it.  How reserved I am.  How reserved Joe was.  Too polite to ask, "Would it be okay?"
She said she didn't recall.  I slowly reached into the box and pulled out the gray and black scarf, the one with the feathery fringe.
"Yes, this is the one," I said.
I remembered the last time I saw him wearing the scarf. He walked into the room and I immediately noticed he was wearing the scarf.  It made me happy.   He wore it around it neck, hanging down loosely, making a fashion statement.  He was cool that way.  I believe it was at Domani's first birthday party.  The only birthday party Joe would get to spend with his son.

But now, I began to cry, softly at first.  She came to me comforting me with a hug, tears falling on the scarf and the Priscilla shirt that we held between us close to our hearts.
Domani stopped playing.  His little face became flushed.  "What's the matter?" he wanted to know.
"Grandma is just sad," she said.  She leaned down next to him and whispered something to him.
"You understand, don't you?" Anne said to him.
He looked at his mother, then at me and solemnly nodded.

Monday, August 29, 2016

Notes and Notables and a Rico Update

Notes and Notables

Ross and I had stuff going on the past few weeks and the stuff will continue into the next couple of weeks.
Some of it is hum-drum, some not, but all noteworthy.  At least I think so.   And since it's my blog I guess I get to decide.

So, the painter, after a 6-week delay due to a family thing (his family) will start painting our house on September 19th.  Last week we went to the paint store and picked up a half dozen quart cans of various paint colors.  We currently have patches of paint samples on our walls all throughout the house.  We probably started applying the patches of paint too early because the more I look at the decisions I've made the less I like them.

Picking colors for an entire house is hard!

In June of this year, our area was hit with a hail storm.  A few weeks ago we noticed some of our neighbors were having their roofs replaced.  At first, we didn’t think anything of it.  The houses are in our community are starting to age.  The older ones were built about 20 years ago.
Ross stopped to talk to one of those neighbors and found out that their roof was damaged during the hail storm.  We decided we should have someone check ours.   Apparently, according to the roofer,  our roof has storm damage.  We contacted our insurance company.  The adjuster came out last week.  Now we are waiting to see if our insurance will pay for a new roof.

Okay, this one isn't so hum-drum and in fact, it was quite scary. Ross spent a good part of his early days outdoors, life guarding in the summer and skiing in the winter.  He admits that he was never diligent about applying sun block.  Last month he noticed a few suspicious looking areas on his skin.   He went to a dermatologist who removed and tested several spots.
One of the tests came back positive for squamous cell carcinoma.   On Thursday Ross had surgery to have it removed. The doctor also took out part of the area around the original spot and had that tested.    That result was negative and the doctor said it is unlikely to recur.  Whew!

Last week I met my long time friend, Cathy for breakfast.  Cathy and I have known each other for 60 years.  Although we only meet every couple of years, we have managed to keep up with each other's lives.
A few days after our meeting, I received a thank-you note in the mail,  my actual mailbox!  I don't remember the last time I received something in my actual mailbox that wasn't a bill or an advertisement.  It was a nice surprise.
"I know we'll continue to keep in touch and am truly happy that our friendship has remained steadfast all these years and will continue to do so."

How lovely is that!

Last weekend Ross went up to his hometown, which is about 100 miles from here, to attend a 55th high school reunion committee meeting.
After the meeting, one of his classmates took him aside and told him how much she enjoyed reading my blog.
That next day I received a note from Kathy (yes another Kathy).  Even though this was an electronic note, it was just as much of a nice surprise.
"Hi Lynda, I asked Ross to tell you but wanted to let you know myself that you are an amazing writer. I don't follow blogs or do much on the internet but I read some of your blog and was blown away by it. Keep it up. You have a real gift."
Wow, Kathy, I am shyly and humbly appreciative.   Makes me want to resurrect "Me and Marymae".

Yesterday we had what we hope to be the start of a regular thing.  A once a month Sunday dinner with the family.   We all have busy lives.  Well okay, Ross and I not so much.  After all, we are retired.  But making time, like we did yesterday, was a special treat.

Up and coming:
Perhaps a new season of “Sundays with Lynda and Ross”.  Maybe after Labor Day.  
Ross' 55th high school reunion is at the end of September.   I'm not sure I will accompany him.  I haven't decided yet.  But most likely not.
Last week we found out that a favorite aunt, my mother's sister, is ill.  She is in our thoughts.  I hope to get over to see her this week.
Also, we are planning a long overdue visit to see Ross' sister Joan.  Maybe in October.  That might depend on how Rico is doing.

Speaking of Rico,  he continues to have sleeping issues but at least not every night.  Although, one of those nights was last night. It’s one of the reasons I had time this morning to write this post. Since I was up with Rico at 3:00 a.m.,  I overslept and missed my 8:30 aerobics class.
I feel, at this point, it seems that Rico still enjoys hanging out with us and...well it’s hard for me to think of the alternative.

So that's it for now.  In my next post, I am going to address how I feel about Facebook and the way it has changed so much in the last couple of years.

Legacy Fiber Artz - Etsy
I am also going to talk about my addiction to YouTube podcasts, knitting podcasts in particular, and why it has started to become a very expensive hobby habit.
Toad Hollow

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Poor Old Dude

This week has been challenging, to say the least. We have definitely experienced the dog days of August. And I'm not just talking about the two straight weeks of 90+ degree weather.  I'm not quite sure who has been challenged the most, though.  It's a toss up for sure.  But since this is my blog, I'll grouchily say me.

Our first encounter with him was about 15 years ago.   Well, let me back up a few months prior to our first meeting.

I was newly single at the time and suffering from empty nest syndrome.
I began thinking about getting a puppy.  I saw an ad in the paper for "Breeder's Assoc-America".

 "Breeders Association of America,Inc is a licensed kennel providing purebred and designer mixed breed puppies. Our vet checked puppies come from professional breeders from all over the country. With boarding services, dog training and our in kennel boutique. We have it all for you and your new puppy!"  

Sounds pretty reputable, doesn't it?

I won't go into details, but I didn't have a good experience with them.  The puppy I bought from them died within a week.  It was very sad.  I paid $1200 for the little guy, he was a Maltese.   Luckily, NJ has a lemon law and after quite a hassle with Breeders Assoc. I was able to get my money back. 

About a week later, I saw an ad from a private breeder.

He was born on a farm.  As we drove down the winding driveway, we passed a couple of kids out in the field riding racing tractors. A little girl with pigtails and bare feet, perched on a sturdy branch of an old oak tree, waved as we went by. 
After we parked and got out of the car, the owner, and her husband came off the front porch of their house to greet us.
She told us about the two puppies she had available.   One was a little girl, about 10 weeks old.  The other was a boy about 12 weeks old.
The woman told us that the boy's mother had died after chewing through the electrical cord of the heating pad they had put in her bed to keep her newborn puppies warm.  Aww, I thought, how sad, an orphan.
The girl, she said, was very docile.  The boy was not.
As we walked over to the pen to see the puppies, the woman pointed to a clump of trees a few yards away from the house and said, "Oh, there's Sadie, coming for her afternoon visit.  Would you like to meet her?"
As it turned out, Sadie was a deer.  We were pretty amazed that we were able to actually walk up to her and pet her.
When we got to the pen the boy immediately came up to us, jumping up, spinning around, tail wagging, and of course barking.  Something he still does, by the way, each time I come home.
The girl was shy and stayed her distance.
The woman opened the gate to the pen and the boy came running out.  The girl had to be coaxed.
The boy started nipping at the girl.  She ran, to get away from him, I suspect.  He chased her.
The woman tried to convince us to take both of them.  And if we had, it would have been about $300 cheaper than what we paid for the one puppy from Breeders Assoc.
Anyway, I guess he, the boy, grabbed my heart right away.
Rico and I and Rico and we (me and Ross) have had quite a life together.  He’s traveled with us to Florida and upstate New York.
He loved Joe.  Joe would puppy sit for us when we vacationed and couldn't take him with us.
All of the grandkids have had their special times with him, each wanting to take a turn with the leash, "Can I walk him, Grandma?"

Rico just celebrated his 15th birthday.

He's an old ornery guy now and is suffering from a variety of old guy maladies.  Arthritis being the main issue.
Up until a few years ago, Rico would lead the way on our walks.  Today, he walks a few steps, usually behind us and will stop to rest under the first shady spot he comes to.  He used to bark at cars and other dogs on our walks.  Now he can't see or hear them.
I have to help him up and down the curbs.
About four days ago he started to become restless at night.  He sleeps with us in our bed.  He falls  asleep and then about two hours later he wakes up, walks over to the edge of the bed and whines.  He can't get down by himself.   The first night he did this, I got up and let him outside, thinking he must have to go.
Afterwards, I put him back on the bed and he began to pace.  Ross got up and at 3:00 a.m. took him out for a walk.   And so began our challenging week.
After the second night of this up and down and not sleeping we took him to the Vet.  The Doc checked him out and speculated that his bones may be aching.  "He's very healthy for an old dude," the Doc said, after doing a blood test.
Since his kidneys and liver functions are excellent, the Vet prescribed an anti-inflammatory medicine for him which we were to give him two hours before bedtime.
That was two days ago.  The medicine didn't help.
Ross and I are now walking around like Zombies.  We're so tired.  Probably me more so, since Ross seems to be able to sleep more soundly than me.
Rico, on the other hand, sleeps all day!
Someone suggested Benadryl.  We tried that last night and it seemed to make him worse.  He was up from 1:00 a.m. until about 4:00.  Me too.
This morning I had the crazy thought that maybe I should sleep during the day with him.  Silliness!
I'm at my wits end trying to figure out what's wrong with our boy and what we can do to help him.
Have you ever had this type of experience?  I sure would appreciate any advice.
I have begun to wonder if Rico’s behavior is a preview of what our old dude and dudette future will be like.
Maybe we should book that trip today, Ross!

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Part Six of “Me and Marymae"

This is part six of my story "Me and Marymae".  If you want to refresh your memory or if you have not yet read the first five parts, click on the tab at the top of my blog (underneath the photo) titled "Me and Marymae".  All six parts are included there. 

     I stammered, "Junie, I...uh...well..."
     "Well, what?" Junie demanded.
     "Marymae and I have spent a good deal of time together lately."
     "And?" Junie persisted.
     "She was beginning to open up to me.  I'm afraid I may have frightened her off."  I said softly.
     "Don't be ridiculous!"  June admonished.
     "Come on, you have to admit, she was a little eccentric," Junie said.   "Remember how she used to walk around her house three times.  Every morning at exactly the same time, she would walk around her  house.  Three times!"
     "What was that all about?"  Junie squinched up her eyes and looked at me.  "I suppose you know why she did that, too!" she exclaimed.
     I looked away because, in fact, I did know.
     I convinced Junie to go back to her house and make the phone call to the police department to report seeing the car that was parked in front of Marymae's house the night that she went missing.
     I needed time to think.
     During one of our talks, Marymae told me about the why of the "three times around the house" ritual.
     It all had to do with the package she gave me the last time I saw her.
     "Can you hold this for me?" she asked as she handed me a...
     Handed me a what?  What would Marymae have handed me?
     Marymae was a ghostly figure without bones or flesh.  She was only a whisper of a woman.
Oh, sure I could conjure her up, give her a face with the bluest of eyes, and snow white hair, but actually, she was the one who frightened me.   I had to make her disappear.  She was beginning to reveal too much.
     Perhaps, it was a bit foolish of me, but I thought, this time, I might have been able to have a complete and intimate relationship with someone like Marymae.  I fantasized about how I would nurture her, tend to her needs, care for her until she trusted me with her entire being.
     I imagined a conversation that I might have with Terry Gross during an NPR interview on "Fresh Air".
    "I loved Marymae.  I cared for her, cared about her.  She was strong, yet vulnerable.  I cried when I found out...Well, I don't want to give anything away," Terry would say.
     "Was she based on a particular person?" she'd ask.
     "Well, Terry, isn't there a little of Marymae in all of us?" I would answer.
     Dr. Thomas would have a field day with that one, I thought.
     "Marymae may have buried her treasures, but you have the key," Dr. Thomas would say in her best non-threatening therapist voice.
     Frustrated, I clicked on the "Me and Marymae" file and dragged it over to the wastebasket where it would unsteadily teeter on top of a virtual reality trash pile of other unfinished stories including the "Red Sweater Serial".
     Lovey bounded down the stairs.  She stopped at the front door, barking and running around in circles, her tail furiously wagging back and forth. 
     "Okay, okay, Lovely.  Let's see who it is," said Fiona as clicked on the porch light and peered out the side window. 
     A shadowy figure stood there, under a black umbrella, his or her face barely visible.  It was a dark and stormy night. 

Sunday, July 24, 2016

What Do You Know? Part 5 of Me and Marymae

This is part five of my story "Me and Marymae".  If you want to refresh your memory or if you have not yet read the first four parts, click on the tab at the top of my blog (underneath the photo) titled "Me and Marymae".  All five parts are included there. 

     Marymae missed our next meeting.  She called to tell me that Cray wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be going to camp that day.  I wondered, though, if she felt she was beginning to reveal too much, not only of her story but also of herself.
     As I was passing Marymae's house the next day, on my morning walk with Sunnydog, I saw Junie outside watering her flowers.  She called to me, "Come on over.  Have a cup of tea."
     Junie was a nice woman and a good friend.   But I was sure she was going to have a million questions about me and Marymae.   I hesitated for a few seconds trying to decide if I was prepared to be barraged and if I would be able to avoid answering her probing questions.
     "Hey, Junie," I called over to her.  "Maybe later on in the week, okay?"
I waved and hurriedly passed by.
     When I got back to my house, I picked up the local newspaper off the stoop and as usual I had to coax Sunnydog into the house with his favorite banana and peanut butter biscuit.  He would have preferred staying outside, sitting in the cool grass, head moving from side to side, hoping to catch a whiff of passersby, both human and non.
     As I waited for the kettle to whistle,  I sat at the kitchen table and leafed through the newspaper skimming articles, noting the ones I would want to read in depth later on.   When I got to page six, my heart nearly stopped.  There was a photo of Marymae with a caption which read: "Have you seen this woman?"  The article went on to say, that a local woman and her grandchild had gone missing.  I was stunned.  Apparently, Marymae's son had reported her missing.
     "If you have any information which might lead to the whereabouts of Marymae Silverio and her granddaughter Cray Silverio, please call this missing persons hotline number, 555-5675."
     I did have information.  But, should I call the number?   I didn't know what to do.   I had promised Marymae that I would keep her secret.  And then there was the package she gave me to hold for her.
     The tea kettle began to whistle while at the same time I heard a banging on my door and someone calling my name.  I turned off the kettle and ran to open the door.  It was Junie, frantically waving a newspaper back and forth.
     She could barely get the words out.  "Did you see this?" she said breathlessly.
  Her face was flushed and I thought she might pass out.  "I saw the car!  I saw the car!"
     "Junie," I said.  "Calm down.  Come here.  Sit."  I put my hands on her shoulders, gently guided her over to a chair.
     "Take a deep breath," I said.  "That's it let it out slowly.   I'm going to pour you a nice cup of tea and then you can tell me what you are going on about."
   After Junie took a couple of sips of her tea,  she began to regain her composure.  She told me how two nights ago she had a terrible headache and couldn't sleep.   "That's why I was up in the middle of the night looking out my bedroom window," she said.   "You know it faces the street."
     "Our bedroom was bathed in moonlight," she went on.  You know with the full moon."
     "There was a car parked in Marymae's driveway," she continued.
     "I didn't think much about it.  It was just something I noticed.  You know, like something out of place.  The next morning it was gone.  Again, I didn't think much about it, until I saw the paper just now."
     "Do you think I should call the number?" she asked.
     "I think we both should," I replied.
     Junie stared at me with a puzzled expression.  "What do you know?" she asked.  "What in the world do you know?"

What I know is that I can't wait to find out what she knows.  How about you?

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Last Weekend I Danced Like It Was 1969

So last weekend Ross and I attended a function at our clubhouse.   It was called "A Summer Boardwalk Rock and Roll Party".  The flyer promised we would "Dance, sing or just shake our groove thing".
There would be pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, hot pretzels and ice cream sandwiches.  Oh, and boxes of Crackerjacks on every table.
By the way, the "Prize Inside" a Crackerjacks box is now a small piece of paper with a digital code.  None of us at the table, (all seniors) knew exactly what we were supposed to do with this piece of paper.
After doing a little research, I discovered that in order to find out what your prize is you have to:  Download an app, which will allow you to scan the sticker that you found inside the Cracker Jack box.  The scan will access a "baseball-inspired mobile digital experiences."
Whatever that means.  
When we first moved into this Active Adult community Ross and I  attended club house functions a few times a year. 
Actually, I distinctly remember the first one we went to.  The experience was quite jolting.  It was a similar type of affair, with food and dancing.  It kind of reminded me of a wedding which might have been held at a VFW hall.   You know, hand made decorations, a local band, round tables for eight, with plastic table clothes.  By the way, you usually have the best times at those weddings, don't you?
Okay, so the jolt for me, attending my virgin Active Adult Community club house dance, was that as I sat there glancing around the room, observing the other participants, I felt an overwhelming sense of melancholy.    At first, I was puzzled.  
The atmosphere was certainly festive.  The room was full of party sounds, peppy dance music, laughter, people shouting greetings to one another.   So why was I feeling a little less than jolly?
I slowly realized where my feeling of sadness was coming from.  
It's a little difficult to explain, actually.   I sort of felt as though I was having a back to the future experience. 
Does that make sense?  It was as if I was that sixteen-year-old girl, at a school dance, having a premonition of what all of my friends would look like 50 years later.  
Although I was on the dance floor dancing like it was 1969,  the white-haired, no longer thin as a rail woman staring back at me from my reflection in the darkened ballroom window was a startling reminder of this rude incongruity between my older body and young at heart soul.  
For a great many and various reasons, The Boardwalk Party dance this past weekend was the first one we have attended in quite a while.  
 As I glanced around the room I smiled at the couple who obviously had taken dance lessons 30 years ago and had perfected the fox trot.  I giggled at the big guy in his Hawaiian shirt trying to get under the limbo stick. "How low can you go?" I was reminded that women will dance with each other in pairs or groups of three, four and five. 
The band was great, the music was loud.  It was nearly impossible to have a conversation.  Ross leaned over and to get close to my ear, "Let me know if you want to get up to dance," he shouted.  He apparently had noticed my feet tapping to the beat.
"Nah, I don't feel much like dancing," I said as I felt the melancholy begin to settle in.  This time, my sadness was more complicated. 
Then I felt a tug on my arm.  I turned around to see a dear friend smiling down at me, motioning me to get up, "Come on," she said.  She guided me over to where another dear friend was waiting for me.  
The three of us had formed a bond about two years ago under the most difficult of times. 
With wide grins pasted on our faces, we began to move in time to "Ride Sally Ride".  Our heads bopped, our fingers snapped and our arms moved back and forth, up and down.
As the melconcoholy slowly melted away,  I felt my sixteen year old spirit twirl me around and around.