are SO totally embarrassing me!" My girl's now in college, so once again I feel free to bee-bop in my Jeep. What's the point of great music if you can't move to it? I saw a gal the other day who had opened her sunroof to wave her hands and snap to the beat.
I have no idea who was holding the wheel, as she was the only occupant in her auto.
All of this is by way of saying that I've figured out I will only exercise if I looove it. That means hiking, tennis, and always, always dance. Meanwhile, as written a few months ago, my dermatologist has been busy punching (burning, freezing, cutting) pre-melanoma bits of skin out of my physique and he's quite stern that I avoid the sun. I
feel like Swiss cheese and look like a ghost. Same thing?
Well, at least that leaves dancing in the cool, cool breeze of the evening. (Jane Wyman, Bing Crosby.) I'm fearless, ruthless and will grab anyone for a go-round: Girlfriends, guys, kids, babies, dogs, cats (my cat puts up with this only because he's lazy and I lead) - and of course, I dance with my dishes. Jeez, it's the only way I can face kitchen duty: Crank up Jr. Walker and the All Stars, baby!
Having been medically prohibited from allowing my bod to soak up daylight (not truly possible in So Cal, but I've done my best) rules out tennis for the time being, and all but the occasional hike. So I signed up for three (count 'em, three) dance classes through Pasadena City College's Extended Learning. After that wicked sun goes down, I take salsa, swing and Middle Eastern dance lessons.
