I always loved Valentine's Day with Robert. We bought each other gifts, professed our love for each other emphatically and often poetically. We spent the afternoon making love, glorying in the magic of the powerful passion we felt for each other. We would love each other for hours -- a candle lighted even in the bright light of afternoon, the bedroom door closed though we were alone in the house. I can still feel the touch of his skin, the sweet pressure of his lips. I hear the love words he muttered.
Dancing was always a part of our self-expression and love expression. One of "our songs" was Anne Murray's "Could I Have This Dance?"
Every Valentine's Day and birthday -- and sometimes New Year's Eve, too! -- he danced for me: a special dance he had created just to please and entice me. He practiced for days in private, choosing the music, the choreography, and the costume that he would shed slowly and sensuously as part of his dance.
This is my third Valentine's Day without Robert, and the first one I've been able to remember his special dances without crying. What beautiful gifts he gave me throughout our seven years together. What beautiful gifts he gives me still, as I remember him.
For all of you who have a special loved one on this Valentine's Day, glory in what you share. Never take for granted that "the rest of my life" means anything more than "this moment right now."
For all of us who are alone on this Valentine's Day, let's glory in the love we know how to give, and let's give it to ourselves and the people in our lives today. Let's do something special that nurtures us, delights us, even romances us. Let's make someone else feel special. Let's celebrate our capacity to feel joy.
I'll be celebrating with our annual "Line Dance Lovefest" in my class tonight, where we enjoy two hours of line dances with "love" in the title (including one or two that I choreographed). Some of the dancers in my class are partnered, many are single, some have lost loved ones. But we come together energized by the exhilaration of dance and the camaraderie we've shared over the years.
Dancing was always a part of our self-expression and love expression. One of "our songs" was Anne Murray's "Could I Have This Dance?"Could I have this dance
for the rest of my life?
Would you be my partner
Every night?
When we're together,
It feels so right.
Could I have this dance
for the rest of my life?
Every Valentine's Day and birthday -- and sometimes New Year's Eve, too! -- he danced for me: a special dance he had created just to please and entice me. He practiced for days in private, choosing the music, the choreography, and the costume that he would shed slowly and sensuously as part of his dance.
For all of you who have a special loved one on this Valentine's Day, glory in what you share. Never take for granted that "the rest of my life" means anything more than "this moment right now."
For all of us who are alone on this Valentine's Day, let's glory in the love we know how to give, and let's give it to ourselves and the people in our lives today. Let's do something special that nurtures us, delights us, even romances us. Let's make someone else feel special. Let's celebrate our capacity to feel joy.
I'll be celebrating with our annual "Line Dance Lovefest" in my class tonight, where we enjoy two hours of line dances with "love" in the title (including one or two that I choreographed). Some of the dancers in my class are partnered, many are single, some have lost loved ones. But we come together energized by the exhilaration of dance and the camaraderie we've shared over the years.
