American Bandstand every Saturday morning, Elvis and the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, sock hops, dance contests in Small Town, USA, at wedding receptions, trying to recapture my youth during a really stupid phase in my life in bars, at my 50th birthday party, out on the porch when I think no one will see, and here in my chair as I listen to my playlist.

Dancing has always been one of the best things in my life. It still is. Not just my body, but my mind and my soul and my spirit.

It may be a memory, or a feeling, or like David an act of praise before the Lord.

I think if I stop dancing I will die. At least some part of me will die. I embrace the Sheila who won those contests, who was a "limbo star", who clung to a young love at the prom. The Sheila who danced in the yard in the spring rain, the raindrops mixing with tears of rediscovery after years of regret. The Sheila who kept up with her son at the wedding reception, the one that came the very first year after I lost my husband.

I am lonely for a partner, one to hold me during the dance of my remaining time. But, I have and can dance alone. My arms thrown up, laughing or crying, loving myself and others and moving to the sweet rhythm of my life as it was and is.

Life is still sweet and I am still dancing.