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Once, as in last month, my husband and I were standing on a long slow line at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station waiting to get on a train, staring at a gorgeous expanse of polished marble flooring. But, my guy declined my invitation to practice our dance steps there for the chacha and the foxtrot.

“Come on,” I said, “Who cares. This is the perfect dance floor. How can we pass this up? Please. Please.”

“Nope,” he told me.

Not too long after that, because our moves are so complicated now (only for us, everyone else seems clear on what to do) he agreed to use the driveway as a dance floor. I mean, where else can we go? You need room. It was glorious right under the beautiful blue sky! And no one said anything, as in no neighbors remarked later when we said hello on the street during the dog walk.

This past Sunday we actually did the tango among the tulips at Longwood Gardens. Well, wait a second, maybe I should say we tried to remember our tango steps among the tulips at Longwood Gardens, but you get the idea.

So, I guess, since no one complained, all this means that the world loved it. Out there with a wide open sky with a clear view of God.

Now that’s for me.

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