I am probably the silliest woman in the world. People who know me well know that I am missing that filter that most people have that stops them from doing insane things in public. I have been known to sing loudly (and badly!) at work. I will break out into a rumba or swing if the song on a store's radio system is one that I like. I wear goofy hats, odd glasses and will happily show you my mismatched striped socks if you ask. I have no problem flashing my mastectomy scars at the curious. One of my favorite things to do, however, is dance. I love dancing. Michele and I took ballroom dance lessons for about 3 years before I was diagnosed. With the cost of treatment, my up and down energy levels and other factors, we had to stop taking lessons, and basically stopped going to the dance parties. But that didn't stop me from dancing on my own.
People worry about how I am feeling with all that has been going on health-wise. Well... at the height of the really toxic treatments, I felt like hammered whale poop. But after the mastectomy and the change to different chemo treatments, my energy started to return. As it returned, I started trying to return to normal... Or at least my version of normal.
Let me set a little scene for you. We live in a small southern town. Everyone here knows everyone else. We watch out for each others kids and dogs (yep... if your dog gets loose and you aren't home, someone will just put the dog in their own yard till you get home, or in my case, since I work walking distance from the house, they just call me at work and say Hey! Cleo is on my porch. Should I just put her in the yard again?). As the weather warms up, we spend evenings on our front porches. You will hear guitars playing into the wee hours, sometimes accompanied by singing (One night my neighbors sang "Simple Man" by Lynard Skynard till 2am). Sometimes alcohol is involved and you end up with the incident we all like to remember as the underwear serenade (a Neighbor stood in his doorframe, in his tighty whiteys serenading us with "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" ... and this was the first night we were in our new home... talk about Welcome to the neighborhood). No one here calls the cops on this stuff... we all just get along and sometimes shout out song requests when we get tired of the same song over and over (I swear... I do know all the words to every Skynard song now). So, my contribution to the neighborhood weirdness quota is my dancing. I dance anywhere and everywhere. Mowing the yard is a great time to practice your latin hip movements and also, if you have a stubborn patch... West Coast Swing will get all those stubborn weeds. I am the Lady who Dances while Mowing.
Lately, however, I have added a new title.
See... I have my IPod. On that evil tool is a whole bunch of dance music. I walk to work listening to it. Okay... maybe WALK is not the right word. In truth, I dance to work and Dance home from work. Yep... my porch sitting neighbors have seen be bust out in triple steps, arm styling and many a twirl. They have witnessed many a West Coast spin as I dance with my imaginary partner down the sidewalk. On one memorable day, a man walking the opposite direction with his groceries stopped to join me as we both displayed that , Yes, we DO have the moves like Jaggar.
So... almost two years into a Stage IV diagnosis, I am still feeling well enough to share my joy.
People worry about how I am feeling with all that has been going on health-wise. Well... at the height of the really toxic treatments, I felt like hammered whale poop. But after the mastectomy and the change to different chemo treatments, my energy started to return. As it returned, I started trying to return to normal... Or at least my version of normal.
Let me set a little scene for you. We live in a small southern town. Everyone here knows everyone else. We watch out for each others kids and dogs (yep... if your dog gets loose and you aren't home, someone will just put the dog in their own yard till you get home, or in my case, since I work walking distance from the house, they just call me at work and say Hey! Cleo is on my porch. Should I just put her in the yard again?). As the weather warms up, we spend evenings on our front porches. You will hear guitars playing into the wee hours, sometimes accompanied by singing (One night my neighbors sang "Simple Man" by Lynard Skynard till 2am). Sometimes alcohol is involved and you end up with the incident we all like to remember as the underwear serenade (a Neighbor stood in his doorframe, in his tighty whiteys serenading us with "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" ... and this was the first night we were in our new home... talk about Welcome to the neighborhood). No one here calls the cops on this stuff... we all just get along and sometimes shout out song requests when we get tired of the same song over and over (I swear... I do know all the words to every Skynard song now). So, my contribution to the neighborhood weirdness quota is my dancing. I dance anywhere and everywhere. Mowing the yard is a great time to practice your latin hip movements and also, if you have a stubborn patch... West Coast Swing will get all those stubborn weeds. I am the Lady who Dances while Mowing.
Lately, however, I have added a new title.
See... I have my IPod. On that evil tool is a whole bunch of dance music. I walk to work listening to it. Okay... maybe WALK is not the right word. In truth, I dance to work and Dance home from work. Yep... my porch sitting neighbors have seen be bust out in triple steps, arm styling and many a twirl. They have witnessed many a West Coast spin as I dance with my imaginary partner down the sidewalk. On one memorable day, a man walking the opposite direction with his groceries stopped to join me as we both displayed that , Yes, we DO have the moves like Jaggar.
So... almost two years into a Stage IV diagnosis, I am still feeling well enough to share my joy.
awesome!!!!!
ReplyDelete