Thursday night my cousin came over and we started talking about some memories of our grandparents. She is ten years younger than me, so I love to tell her some of the stories of my memories. One of them we talked about was grandma and her dancing shoes.
Now let me start by saying that my grandparents started taking dancing lessons when I was probably around seven, maybe younger. They practiced in the living room, in the kitchen, wherever they could. They loved dancing. Sometimes, I was grandpa's partner for practicing. I learned the box waltz, the polka, foxtrot, and any other country western dance you could imagine that they learned.
When the lessons were over they got a membership at the Moose Lodge, (which had the best steaks around) and Vinewood. I'm not sure if Vinewood required a membership. Anyhow, every weekend was spent dancing, whether it was a senior citizen dance out of town, or at one of the places above, they were dancing. Nothing stopped them. Plus if I was along, especially at the Moose Lodge, I got to feel like a big girl and drink with them. I looked forward to my Shirley Temple drink. (Cherry Coke with a cherry).
As the dancing got more serious, so did the shoes. Grandma would get a catalogue of shoes and she ordered pairs upon pairs of shoes for dancing. The ones that stick in my mind the most are the patent leather, tan ones, with a short square heal. I'm sure they are still in the closet. She would wait impatiently like a child for her dancing shoes to be delivered.
They were delivered in a brown shoe box, and they each had to be in that box when not being worn and were stacked neatly at the bottom of the closet.
Even though, today I smile about the dancing shoes, I wouldn't trade the memories of dancing with them for anything. I know they are in heaven dancing now, grandpa in his gray suit and grandma, in a beautiful dress with a pair of her dancing shoes.
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