{"id":21678,"date":"2022-12-03T00:01:18","date_gmt":"2022-12-03T08:01:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/?p=21678"},"modified":"2022-12-02T22:57:16","modified_gmt":"2022-12-03T06:57:16","slug":"the-dance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/the-dance\/","title":{"rendered":"The Dance"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>Comes now a tear-jerker of a story from Thelda Bevens. This beautiful love story strikes ever so closes to home with me.\u00a0 <\/span>I assure you it will do the same for you, if you have ever been head-over-heels in love.<\/span><\/p>\n

A story please…..<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDar and I loved to dance.\u00a0 <\/span>It was probably the first thing we did together, long before we would share our lives.<\/span><\/p>\n

We grew up in a small Oregon mountain community where dances were held every Saturday night, sometimes in the school gym, sometimes in the Grange Hall, sometimes in the home of Nelson Nye.\u00a0 <\/span>Nelson and his family loved music and dancing so much that they added a special room to their house large enough to accommodate at least three sets of square dancers.<\/span><\/p>\n

Once a month or more, they invited the entire community to a dance.\u00a0 <\/span>Nelson played the fiddle and his daughter, Hope, played the piano, while the rest of us danced.<\/span><\/p>\n

In those days the entire family went together–including the grandparents, the farmers and loggers, the school teachers, and the store owner.\u00a0 <\/span>We all danced to songs such as \u201cGolden Slippers\u201d and \u201cRed Wing,\u201d side-by-side with contemporary ones like \u201cRed Sails in the Sunset\u201d and \u201cIt\u2019s a Sin to Tell a Lie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The smaller children always had a place to sleep among the coats, close at hand, when they tired.\u00a0 <\/span>It was indeed a family affair, one of the few entertainments in a small mountain town climbing slowly out of the Great Depression.<\/span><\/p>\n

Dar was 17 and I was 12 when we first danced.\u00a0 <\/span>He was one of the best dancers on the floor and so was I.\u00a0 <\/span>We always jitterbugged.\u00a0 <\/span>No slow dancing for us, nothing even remotely romantic.\u00a0 <\/span>Our fathers would stand along the wall and watch.\u00a0 <\/span>They weren\u2019t friends.\u00a0 <\/span>They didn\u2019t even talk to each other, not even a casual conversation.\u00a0 <\/span>Both good dancers themselves, they were really proud of their kids.\u00a0 <\/span>Every once in a while, Dar\u2019s dad would smile a little, shake his head, and say, to no one in particular, but so my dad could hear, \u201cBoy, my kid can sure dance.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My dad never blinked an eye; acted like he\u2019d never heard.\u00a0 <\/span>But a while later he would say, to no one in particular, \u201cThat girl of mine can sure dance.\u201d\u00a0 <\/span>And being of the old school, they never told us we were that good or had stirred that tiny bit of boastful rivalry along the wall.<\/span><\/p>\n

Our dancing together stopped for five years while Dar was in the South Pacific in World War II.\u00a0 <\/span>During those five years, I grew up.\u00a0 <\/span>When we met again, Dar was 22 and I was almost 18.\u00a0 <\/span>We began to date–and dance again.<\/span><\/p>\n

This time it was for ourselves–finding our moves, our turns, our rhythms–adjusting, anticipating, enjoying.\u00a0 <\/span>We were as good together as we remembered, and this time we added slow dancing to our repertoire.<\/span><\/p>\n

For us, the metaphor fits.\u00a0<\/span> Life is a dance, a movement of rhythms, directions, stumbles, missteps, at times slow and precise or fast and wild and joyous.\u00a0 <\/span>We did all the steps.<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Two nights before Dar died, the family was with us as they had been for several days–two sons and their wives and four of our eight grandchildren.\u00a0 <\/span>We all ate dinner together and Dar sat with us.\u00a0 <\/span>He hadn\u2019t been able to eat for several weeks, but he enjoyed it all–told jokes, kidded the boys about their cribbage playing, played with two-year-old Jacob.<\/span><\/p>\n

Afterward, while the girls were cleaning up the kitchen, I put on a Nat King Cole tape, \u201cUnforgettable.\u201d\u00a0 <\/span>Dar took me in his arms, weak as he was, and we danced.<\/span><\/p>\n

We held each other and danced and smiled.\u00a0 <\/span>No tears for us.\u00a0 <\/span>We were doing what we had loved to do for more than fifty years, and if fate had so ordained, would have gone on doing for fifty more.\u00a0 <\/span>It was our last dance–forever unforgettable.\u00a0 <\/span>I wouldn\u2019t have missed it for the world.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Oh, dear ones, never waste an opportunity to hold those whom you deeply love closely in your arms and tell them just how much you do love them.\u00a0 <\/span>Never waste an opportunity to show them just how much you really care by always acting in their behalf, supporting that which they have chosen to do, and by providing for and protecting them for the rest of your life. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

God has placed you precisely right where He wants you to be. Just as you presently are.\u00a0 <\/span>Equipped just as you presently live.\u00a0 <\/span>Enjoy your life\u2019s journey for the entirety of it.<\/span><\/p>\n

Blessings and Encouragement to All of You…………….<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Comes now a tear-jerker of a story from Thelda Bevens. This beautiful love story strikes ever so closes to home with me.\u00a0 I assure you it will do the same for you, if you have ever been head-over-heels in love. … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21678","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stories-that-will-bless-your-heart"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21678","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21678"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21678\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21680,"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21678\/revisions\/21680"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21678"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21678"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davesevern.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21678"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}