Put On Your Dancing Shoes Dear!

My wife, Linda, should never have given me dance lessons when I turned 50.  Now, anytime I hear music that I can dance West Coast Swing to, I immediately begin to tap my feet.
Sometimes you just find yourself with an available dance floor and a willing surrogate partner.  Such was the case when we stopped in Columbia to get a break from the rain and have lunch.  The owner of the restaurant gave the thumbs up to his fiancee to dance with me.  I was honored and she followed rather well.

Of course, if I closed my eyes I dreamed of dancing with Linda… the little things you miss the most. “Put on your dancing shoes dear, only 5000 more miles to go!”