I am a dancer, despite my mother’s religious attempt to stop me. As a mother with two young daughters, they will take dance lessons, even though I have little money and am essentially a single parent.

I sew my own dress of shiny blue, a 360degree swirling skirt that shows off the fitted top. I own small boobs; and now the freedom to dance. To make up for lost time; forbidden to dance during my childhood.

Young at heart, I am a beginning average runner in the late 1970s. I sign up for the 24-hour dance marathon fund raiser for the Arthritis Foundation held at a local night club in Ithaca, NY called the Nite Court. How apropos!

Each hour, we are given a 10-minute rest period for a bathroom sprint and hydration. All night. For 50-minutes you must be on your feet. More exhausting than the all-nighters I pulled off in college.

When I return home to my daughters and their babysitter, I am just plum tired.  I hug my precious Erin and Megan, hardly remembering my head hitting the pillow – out like a light! My heart full of light. All night.