Monday, Monday

Dear Mimi,


I know this is going to sound strange, but I think you dance like Mama Cass. While I always considered you graceful (specifically when compared to my extreme clumsiness), you were not a dancer. This is not to say that you did not dance. You loved to dance - with Dad. And everyone loved to watch the so obviously loving and intimate conversation you two carried on while dancing. And you danced with him everywhere. On trains, down hospital hallways, in the grocery, in the chemo room.


But that's not the dancing of which I'm thinking. I really mean the dancing by yourself dancing. Or, moving to music. You always made me laugh - or perhaps I should say that I always laughed at you - when you danced by yourself. Not in a malicious way. In the 'I am a teenager and you are clearly not hip with the way kids dance, even though I'm not really either' way. I suppose it will be the same, some day, when my son catches me grooving to some 'oldies' from the 1990's. (Especially because that child can daaaannnnce.) You had this clapping, half stomping move that reminded me of an old man slapping his leg along to the hoe-down. But my favorite was this sort of loosey-goosey shuffling and hip swaying. And this morning, I watched Mama Cass do the exact same thing.




For the rest of my Monday, Monday, my head will be filled with visions of you dancing. If I could thank Mama Cass for reminding me of this piece of you, I would.


Love,


A