Have you seen the shirt that says: Everybody was Kung-Fu dancing?
Well. Probably not everbody was, even back in the day, but on Christmas night, after the presents; after the turkey cooked outdoors in a big green egg followed by a wildly competitive corn hole game in the basement, it was time to blast up the tunes and dance.
And dance they did, those kids and grandkids and in-laws of mine, ranging in age from 19 to 58—they danced for all they were worth. Song after song blared over a speaker attached to one or the other’s cell phone. They knew every word to every song. The set of random moves they performed ranged from extremely skillful to well, to “active.”
On and on it went until Jeni got warm enough to take off a layer—her baggy overalls. Adam picked them up slid them on and became a dancing farmer boy.
He’s the oldest of the dozen grandkids and the only one with definite plans to get married—just not quite sure when—but soon.
“Tonight we’re building a play list for the wedding,” Amy says.
That event, whenever and wherever it is, will be the scene of the next coming together of this simpatico bunch, and they are all counting on it.