Thursday

Donna Summers


I've always loved to dance.  I'm still dancing.  Around the house mostly.  ChaChaCha before breakfast isn't for everyone but my friends, being kind and gracious, put up with me all the same.  When I go to concerts these days, which isn't often, most people are listening not dancing.  Sometimes a few granola girls, like me, can be found off to the side, arms in the air swaying to the music but that's about it for now.

Oh oh but the disco days...how we danced.  And  when Donna Summers sang we were ALL on our feet.  She made nimble even the most dangerous of the two-left footers. The dance floor was filled with drunken, drugged, sweating and altogether beautiful stobe-lite bodies.

Our dreamtime of Utopia had come to an end a few years before.  Many of us were so terribly lost.  The tribe had broken. What to do?  Where to go?  Some went back to the land. Others wandered wherever the proverbial wind took them. Some settled into family life.  I was a wanderer who wanted to go back to the land but didn't.  And tried family life but didn't do very well with it either.

Then came the rumor of enormous nightclubs filled with music and dancing goodtimes and off I went.  I'm grateful.  It was a good way to pass those lost years. And her music was sweet sweet and filled with goodwill.  I needed that in those broken-hearted days. We all did.  Drunk and drugged the center may not have held, but for a few hours in the soft dark night we could dance.  And dance we did.

Save the last dance.  For me.  For you.
For her....Donna Summers...our beautiful disco Queen.