Line Dancing Police

We have just returned from a long weekend in Key West. Five of us took our motor home down for the less hectic weekend preceding Fantasy Fest. We had a blast in this weird and wild island at the far reaches of our country. It makes me proud to be an American. Our diversity makes us strong and interesting (and maybe a little weird). The next time you hear someone complain about a person or group that does not look, sound or worship exactly like them take the time to stand up for and defend those “different Americans”. It saddens me to hear the right wing politicals complain that anyone that has a different point of view, is somehow Un-American. I say lets revisit the principles upon which this country was founded: A bunch of immigrants escaping persecution, fighting for freedom, equality, right to pursue etc…

Rich has given me some lip regarding my use of real first names in this blog. He thinks the names should be changed to protect the innocent. Although I don’t think there is an innocent among us, Rich will now be referred to as R.C. (Richard Cranium), and the jury shall disregard any previous reference to him by any other name.

There are certain things that my husband, Wayne has sworn he will never do here in the Villages. He will never walk a dog that can fit into his pocket and he will not line dance.

When we first came to the square he decided that he should be the line dancing police. It seemed to him that there should be some sort of penalty for line dancing to Pink Floyd. “I’m sorry mam, but you are under arrest for line dancing to a legendary Rock and Roll Band.” R.C. however swears that he will get Wayne to dance to the McDonalds song. I don’t know who will win this conflict, but it should be an interesting battle.

My 100+lb black lab, Lady McBeth (Betty for short) hopes that he never will need to trade down to a pocket dog. She is a beautiful loyal friend who is getting old. Her hips bother her and she spends all day watching people go by the house from the couch on my lanai. She's a watch dog, you know. Her Vet thinks she should loose weight, but she thinks she is just retaining a little water or may be a bit big boned. She loves the slower pace here in the Villages, and the two acres on the water that she used to run around in NY is a vague memory.

Her mother, Sable, passed away during my second trip down here to the Villages. I cried for days, and I still miss her. She was smarter, and more energetic than her offspring, and she would have missed running free. Betty, however, will be perfectly happy spending her last years here on the porch. She may not fit in your pocket, but her personality is a little poodle-like.

Wayne said to shoot him if ether of these things ever happens. I don’t like guns, but if he insists…