I’m not sure what made me think this evening of Mark Twain’s quote. It certainly wasn’t inspired by the repeated chorus of frenzied barking at the front window because people dare to walk down our street (Catie has been particularly animated). It wasn’t triggered by the events of an ordinary weekend and a mundane Monday. And I haven’t danced in years – I renounced the whole business when I realized to my horror that I danced just like Elaine on Seinfeld.
Thinking of dancing makes me think of my mother. She died in November 2001, a shadow of who she had been just eighteen months before, when an undiagnosed brain infection robbed her of her memory, her speech, and her self. Music often played in the long term care facility my dad had to move her into and one evening, when she was still able to walk, the nursing attendant coaxed her for her bath by asking her to dance.
It was one of those rare magic moments stumbled upon and instantly captured, as my mom – who no longer knew who I was – waltzed and twirled down the corridor in the arms of an aide.
I’ve just realized that it’s not really dancing I’m thinking of. It’s more a niggling reminder to pay closer attention so I don’t miss those exquisite and fleeting moments. I’m sure I’ve carelessly overlooked many. You see, I spent much of today in a mindless, melancholy stupor for no particular reason. And then I came home. Catie and Riley greeted me as if I had been away for weeks. There was the familiar flurry of tail wagging as I opened the door. Riley did his excited dance around my feet; Catie hopped to the piano and put her muzzle on the key board.
I think my mom would have loved both these dogs.
A lot.
