from the Archives, "Dancing in the Street"

There is something about whipped cream on the end of the nose that makes one giggle, even if you are ninety one.

We all dressed up and went out to dinner at a local favorite called the Proud Cut Saloon. The copper topped bar, lodge pole pine tables and rodeo pictures everywhere create a fun ambiance. Of course, we had to sit in the back across from the kitchen because we had a minor with us. No worries here, the giggling began before we even sat down. We were dressed to the nines, surely everyone in the front thought that we had just come from some fancy event. It’s not often that you get a chance to get out of jeans and boots but it sure is fun to dress up, smell good and put on pretty things.

Dinner was full of the hearty entertainment that you get from a four year old and 91 year old at a table. I just couldn’t help myself when desert came with whip cream on the top. Thinking ahead, I managed to get it into my possession doling out spoonfuls of peanut butter pie around the table. There is a thing with whip cream in my house. Many times it ends up on someone, usually with a little girl chanting, “Food Fight”. What started out at a birthday picnic has turned into a Marx household tradition. Whipped cream is not meant just for eating.

So it goes that as the desert bowl emptied out, there was a mound of whip cream left and, ,I with the lucky spoon nabbed the end of the nose of that little girl across from me and the unsuspecting grandmother beside me. (Surely, I would never do that to her). Her giggles and those of the folks next to us made me think that you are never too young to be silly, even if for a moment. But the fun of the night didn’t end there.

As we walked to our car, reliving the good dinner and laughter, we heard strains of music wafting toward us from the porch of the Irma Hotel. All of us looked longingly at the empty sidewalk, but decided we should just go home. But in the car we couldn’t stand it and piled out, down the street in our dresses and heels to where the band played an old Johnny Cash song.

Much to the amusement of the crowd of local cowboys, we danced on the sidewalk. A little girl swaying from side to side, her eyes closed in her mother’s arms and a grandmother digging in her memory for the right rhythm for the two step. We didn’t care who was watching, we danced every song until the band ended their set.

Remember you are never too young or old for whipped cream or dancing in the street.


orignally published June 4, 2007 on the first Contemporary Western Design.com