Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

Dance, Dance, Dance

Dance, Dance, Dance

            I felt pretty good about my conscientious eating choices for the day, and was feeling even better about my daily exercise. Robert and I are taking country dance lessons, so I was looking forward to a break from jogging and walking for a night of Western Cha-Cha. We are relatively new to the sport, but he gifted me with some spectacular boots for Christmas, so it really didn’t matter if I danced well or not, the boots made me look good anyway.

            The Stampede, Denver’s premier Dance Emporium, is the scene of our latest undertaking, and I must admit is a pretty sweet set-up. Dance lessons are $3 each, and include a free fajita bar and $2 drinks. It’s a pretty big place, and very popular for country music fans. The clientele and dynamic are interesting to watch, with the early evening hours being frequented mostly by the middle-age to elderly crowd, such as ourselves, who are there for the free food, lessons and the chance to promenade around the mostly empty dance floor.

            Having become Friday night regulars, we are beginning to see the same people there each week. My favorite is an older couple, who seem to be holding each other up as they dance around the floor slowly. She is thin and bent over at the waist, but wears the most elaborate outfits, including her fancy boots. He shuffles along, holding her arm as they step up onto the dance floor, then, like the game we played as children where we pushed against each other and relied on the tension to keep us both from tipping over, they dance the night away, slowly, to their own rhythm and pace. They’re delightful.

            Then there’s “show off girl.” I think she is or must have been a dancer, because she always has the fake smile of a performer on her face, and doesn’t really follow any of the formal dances, but twirls and twists like its her own personal stage. Her partners are merely platforms to showcase her talent, and they obligingly offer their hand for twirling as she smiles and gestures grandly to her imaginary audience. I begrudgingly admit she has an extraordinary sense of rhythm, but she doesn’t look really happy when she dances.

            Unlike Robert and I, who have a diminished sense of rhythm, but try hard and end up laughing as we are about to be run over by the crowd of dancers who always seem to be tidal waving us. Country dancing involves constantly moving forward, much like roller skating rinks. If you are caught unaware, as we often are, you look up to see the entire group heading your way. The elders, and the learners, are pretty considerate and will laugh at us as they dance around use, but as the night wears on the floor gets more crowded and there’s less room for error within the crowd.

            We are definitely getting better though, and are slowly mastering the two-step, the twelve-step and the County Cha-Cha, which is proving to be one of my favorites because it feels like we’re actually dancing with each other, instead of just following the crowd. We will persevere, but I think next week we will take a break and go to Lincoln’s Roadhouse, where we can dance with reckless abandon, and not only will we not be judged as we bounce around with no formal footwork, but everyone else in the joint will be doing the same.

January 4, 2014 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Another Year Older…

Another Year Older…

               Yesterday signaled the end of one year. 365 days. But as I reflect on the past year, it feels to me like it is the end of a lifetime, and the beginning of a new one.

               2013 brought me the news that Jess was going to have a baby, and a short nine months later, Petra was here. Jess and Za moved to Colorado and settled into a nice home in Longmont, and I moved into a nice home with Robert, where both of our families merged nicely for the holidays. I spend a good portion of my time tending house, which I actually enjoy. Hosting parties, cooking dinners and enjoying meals and leisure time in front of the fire turns out to be things I enjoy very much, although they are a lifetime away from my tiny apartment downtown, where the morning cup of coffee was the only thing I ever really cooked and enjoyed there.

               For more than 20 years I mostly lived the life of a single woman, not worrying about a mate or what they would or would not want. I lived a life of survival while Jess was at home, then one of indulgence and often gluttony as I bounced from place to place, telling myself it was only until Jess settled down and gave me grandchildren, then I would consider settling myself.

And here it is.


 Time for me to think about my future. And maybe apply myself just a little bit.

               My immediate future holds for me, for the first time in more than a decade, the challenge of losing weight. I’ve gotten soft and fat (or at least 12 pounds bigger) since I quit smoking, fell in love and moved to the suburbs. Like most of my life, I haven’t had to put a lot of thought into my weight, and could enjoy McDonald’s for breakfast, Taco Bell for lunch and mac and cheese for dinner without gaining weight. I like to pretend it’s the not smoking that has led to my weight gain, but the stubborn roll that has settled around my belly is screaming “pre-menopause.”

               My easy choices are endless. The internet is ripe with quick-fixes. Garcinia, Green Coffee Bean Extract, body cleanses and dozens of other products that claim to melt the fat away without my having to actually do anything. Unfortunately, I know better, so while it’s tempting to try them, I think I will shy away from the easy route and try the old-fashioned cure; smaller portions, more exercise, less alcohol.

Maybe an old-fashioned corset will be the answer.



January 2, 2014 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment