in memory

It was expected, there were no regrets or dark secrets left idle.  Every grandchild, nine, and every great grandchild, eight, got there to see her before she passed.  She spoke each ones name, whispered I love you, and was at peace.  I'm devastated.  As much as you know it will be any moment, it still kicks like a mule.  I will need strength today.  I was going to read someones poem or something, but I think I will just tell the grand kids about how it was back in the 50's & 60's in a little town in eastern Oregon. 

Life was one long dull edge of work, sleep, eat, sleep.  Days were short and cold in the winters.  Nights were long, dark, gloomy and bitter cold.  Mom & Dad worked long hours at their day jobs and we kids went to school.  Evenings and weekends were consumed by meetings, homework, sports, church, and long lists of chores.

If the term drudgery brings you memories of long cold rural roads framed by barren fields gone fallow in the winter, this was our existence.  It was home but it was thread bare.

The name Aurthur Murray', didn't mean anything to me, but my parents, their friends, my older siblings, and even a few of the teachers at school dropped that name like it was an automatic after thought.  Aurthur Murray this, and Aurthur Murray that.  As an eight year old boy, I was too young for dance lessons, but this guy Art, was having one hell of an impact on my little town and in particular, my family.  I never met Art.  I was too young I guess, but it took me years to figure out, Aurthur Murray didn't really come to Hermiston to teach dance lessons at the Elks Club every Wednesday evening all winter long.  It was actually some young couple from Chicago that did a lot of traveling and more dancing than their hearts would have hoped for.  I'm sure the, "exciting new places," section of their recruiting brochures had long been forgotten by the time the Hermiston Elks Club became their regular Wednesday gig. 

I was told I couldn't participate because I was too young but that when I got older I could.  Something happened between, "could not", and "could participate," and I never had a dance lesson in my life.  One of life's great disappointments but I did sit on the couch and watch my Brother and sister, and in particular, my Mom & Dad, practice their moves.  It is this vision that comes screaming back to me in wide screen, THX, HD, 1080P clarity.  Yes sir.  There they are in the living room, Hi-FI in the corner playing the same 33 1/3 RPM LP over and over.

My older siblings kind of liked it, I could tell.  There was something about dancing that was mysterious to me and these two didn't quite get it I could tell.  They tried their best at least some of the time, and they completed their course which included waltz, samba, jazz, modern etc.  But they just didn't have that special spark, that beacon that shown every time my Dad took my Mother in his arms & turned up the music. 

Mom & Dad enjoyed it.  Right there in each others arms they radiated a vibrant glow.  It was like a heavy blanket of love and respect and pleasure.  It was primal and completely normal and necessary.   It was as plain as the salt in the sea, they were in love.  Their intention was clear, they didn't care who knew, they didn't care who watched, their love was the rooms love.

Dad wore a sport coat, tie, polished shoes and freshly laundered and ironed shirt to work every day of his life.  Tonight as he danced with Mom in the living room, his sport coat was hung up in the closet and his tie was loose.  The grin he was wearing was almost too much for me to accept.  I mean, where is your cool Dad?  They were practicing something called the Rumba and he was really enjoying himself. 

Mom was doing about six things at once as she and Daddy practiced dancing and preparing our dinner was just one of them.  She clutched a dishrag from the kitchen in her left hand as they swayed to the music and each time the music stopped she dropped that rag on top of a pot and lifted the hot lid to check on our dinner which was simmering on the stove.  When I close my eyes I can smell the cabbage as it filled the house with its goodness. 

Mom and Dad dancing.  It is a memory I will cherish.