After six months, I still can’t dance. My podiatrist and physical therapist agree, and on top of the nerve pain, not dancing’s killing me! Such despair! Here’s why!
Recently
Last night we dropped by the Sweetheart Dance at the Albuquerque Square Dance Center to see friends— I still can’t dance. I tuned out the music and the dancing on the floor and concentrated on talking to my friends. Such despair! Then today, we just spent the afternoon at the dance hall for the Annual Membership Meeting. I’m on the board that runs the dance hall. Afterwards a large group went out to Sadie’s for dinner and that delicious social time we all enjoy! I looked at people sitting around the table, seeing some who I have known for decades and some just a few years! But dear friends!
So why can’t I dance? The dog attack happened six months ago—the wound has healed! But the nerve damage persists. I have peroneal nerve damage that runs from my foot to my butt. A couple months ago, my podiatrist warned me if I got kicked in a square, I could erase all the work we done so far over the past few months to diminish the nerve pain. And because of the CRPS, Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, the pain could escalate and gets worse.
Then, my physical therapist told me last week when I questioned him about square dancing that I could injure my ankle with any rotating movement of the foot.
So, six months since the dog attack, I still can’t dance! If you don’t know me, you may be wondering why this one thing is so important to me.
Let my poetry answer the question:
“She Was Born Dancing!”
On June 26, 1953, my folks left
their thirteen-month-old son with Millie,
the family babysitter,
to go to a square dance in Trinidad,
fifty miles away.
Mom danced one tip that night—
She was nine months pregnant
with me.
They left the dance early
feeling something was about to happen.
Early the next morning
Mom had labor pains
that made her stagger across the floor.
It was time!
The fifty-mile trip back to Trinidad
and the hospital
was made in record time.
At 10:30 a.m. I was born.
Dad went downtown to buy cigars
and ran into a fellow dancer
from the previous night.
Dad announced his good news—
a new baby girl!
Remembering Mom at the dance
the night before,
the only comment the stunned friend
had to make was,
“She was born dancing!”
Larada Horner-Miller, This Tumbleweed Landed, (Horner Publishing Company, 2014), 11-12.
So, I treasure my legacy—she was born dancing! The majority of my life has spun around dancing of some kind, and not dancing for SIX MONTHS has tortured me! Six months!
Here’s another poem describing how I feel when I dance:
Why We Square Dance—
Why I Dance
It’s a Friday night
Or
A Saturday night
A dance night!
The week lasted for eons
grueling
I had my work face on for five days
and I kept going.
I finished this week
Exhausted!
My family needs drained me
I am welted
and
am ready to dissolve into bed!
But it’s my dance night.
I breathe deeply,
and I know!
I select my square dance outfit.
What do I feel like tonight?
Red or turquoise
Southwest design or frilly lace?
The familiarity of my weekly routine
takes over
Systematically I put on my outfit
and
as each layer goes on,
my perspective and energy level changes!
First my hose
With a deep breath, I release part of my stress
Then my pettipants
Oh my, it’s going—another deep breath
Then my top and skirt
My goodness—a glimmer of hope
Then my belt
A smile slowly crosses my lips
Next my matching petticoat and shoes
Yes, I sigh with relief
Finally, my club badge
To identify who I am—
A square dancer!
A spray to finish my hair
a touch of lipgloss
A final look in the mirror
A pirouette and a spin
crinoline flowing
I am complete!
My exhaustion replaced with anticipation!
The drive to the dance hall
becomes a time tunnel
a vacuum
a timeless space
void of the demands of this world
stress free
relaxing
Either soft music in the background
Or
a compatible silence
Or
a casual conversation
A bridge between the world out there
With its demands
And the dance world
With its pleasures!
Friends greet me as I enter the dance hall—my dance family
The music starts
I step onto the dance floor
and I am free!
The carefree child within me
spins round and around
claps her hands
and
Shouts for joy!
I am free!
The tip starts,
and I am safe
to spend two hours
In sheer joy and ecstasy!
I drop the world’s cares and concerns,
at the door,
kicking them out of view!
So if you have problems in your world, join me
and
leave them at the door!
If you are angry or sad
The magic begins
when you show up
and
dress up!
The music starts
and
I step onto the dance floor!
And then the real magic takes over!
Cares melt down my shoulders
and flitter away on a breath
giving a lightness to my step
Sorrows cluster together
and ride away on an angel’s wings.
Music playing
surrounded by dear friends
I step onto the dance floor
It is a safe place
And
I am free!
That’s why I dance!
Copyright © 2015 Larada Horner-Miller
I love the preparation, the anticipation and then finally stepping on the dance floor, the music and the dance!
Finally,
I hope these words of mine in poetry form have expressed my deep love for dancing and square dancing specifically. And hopefully, you can sympathize with me for not dancing for SIX MONTHS! Yes, enduring the pain has been grueling, but this loss resonates in a different category!
Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir e-book on sale for $1.99
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