By now I should be used to how easy it is to dance two separate dances through life. There's the fast, fun dance; the polka. I can hear Gwen urging me to spin faster and faster. That's the dance I'll dance today when I'm out there in the world; attending a meeting of The University of Michigan Retirees Association, where I'll learn about insurance benefits I'm entitled to as a surviving spouse/beneficiary. (I will always hate how cold and sterile that sounds: "surviving spouse/beneficiary." Makes me want to shout: "Hey, I'm John, not some legalese phrase; Gwen was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'll never think of her as someone whom I'm surviving!") Later today I'll again do that lively dance when I am with my group of Story Time Players at an elementary school, hamming it up and reading about the three little pigs. (There is no pun intended by saying hamming it up with the tree little pigs.)
For the rest of today I'll do the slow, dreamy waltz; remembering the soft warmth of my perfect partner as we slowly circled around the dance floor. Today it is cloudy and cold--a perfect day to stay inside for a while and let God and Gwen speak to me:
AS LEAVES DRIFT PAST MY WINDOW
Today, as leaves drift past my window,
I know that our certain love
warms against the oncoming winter;
Like the bulbs I planted Sunday,
I await the spring,
John A. Bayerl, October 13, 2011
It doesn't matter if the dance is fast or slow, Dear, it will always be with you.
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