My Friday night routine is to eat dinner at the Americana winery’s cafe, where live music can either settle your stomach or flare one’s ears. I hope to dance, which depends on the type of musical group playing.
On the second Friday of the month, I leave the Americana during the band’s break and drive to Endicott, New York one hour away, to dance for two or more hours to DJ music. It’s called a California mix: ballroom (waltz, rumba, cha-cha, swing) Latin (salsa, meringue, bacchante), country two-step, along with many west coast songs, to which I prefer to dance the hustle.
While at the Americana, May 10th, 2019, I dance in my street shoes. On my return drive to Ithaca, New York, where I live, my memory interrupts my gazing at the bright yellow Forsythia, opened groups of daffodils and budding tulips.
“Hey, I forgot my dance shoe bag!” I think to myself. “And what made think of that right now?”
As luck would have it, the drive to Endicott passes directly past my home – in fact is a short cut, rather than my usual route of smoother pavement, where I can drive above the speed limit. I happily retrieve my dance shoe bag that holds a fan to cool me off. I add a dark chocolate hazelnut candy-bar treat.