I’m happy with the outcome. It is itself a dance. And the music of the dance.

I know few people who have had to dance as hard as you have. A nine-month-long polka, non-stop, with the music increasing in tempo and sometimes reversing rhythm. I’ve had the pleasure of stepping in here and there and going a whirl or two with you. It was hard work!

Look at you. Still on your feet.

Land sakes alive.

My syntax difficulties I can attribute to brain damage. Any excuse will do to account for the habits I’ve aquired over a long lifetime of striving.

Patricia accused me of employing “achaic” lingustics in the first sumitted draft. Drat all those Lois LaMour cowboy melodramas I pored through for so many hours, instead of doing my homework in grade school. The schoolwork was rote; the cowboys and damsels were food for boyish romance. Between that and scifi and outdoor romps, I had no time for foolish schoolwork. I got poor marks for studying, but straight A’s on testing, like the movies Forester of Sean Connery’s finding.

I wish I could say writing was a challenge. If it happens at all, it flows like water. I must confess, I bounced these lines off my mother’s ear whilst composing — we penned it before breakfast one morn, and took much longer to edit Patricia’s suggested changes than the original composition — near two orders of magnitude.

If I could only still talk like I can write, he wishes wistfully…

I think I will be fortunate to dance on this earth for the short time I have left. Make the best.

Thanks for sharing.