Crossing Over

I remember a special ceremony, eons ago, when I “flew up” in Scouting.  A simple wooden bridge, maybe a yard long and 6” high, was decorated on one side with a rainbow poster. I walked over it, leaving Brownies forever and entering the realm of Girl Scouts: a low-level rite of passage.

In similar fashion, it felt like the hubby and I crossed over another bridge today into Seniorville.  We are now card-carrying members of our county’s Senior Center with all the rights and responsibilites inherent thereto (trying to sound official here).

We decided to get involved at this Center because of the fitness room, which offers great cardio and weight machines.  However, there’s a lot more going on - a Book Club and Writing Club, Tae Kwon Do and Tai Chi Classes, a Card Making Class and Knitting Group.  There’s a Computer Assistance Class, of course, and more. After today’s fitness orientation (I gave the treadmill a whopping good workout, by the way) we toured some other parts of the facility to watch a few activites in progress – like a Dance Club meeting adjacent to the lunchroom.

Four couples had the floor to themselves.  One in particular caught my eye – a wispy, flyaway-fragile woman in the arms of a stooped-over giant wearing clompy, thick-soled shoes resembling boots.  They box-stepped together, making a small 6” square on the shiny linoleum floor, her slender slippered-feet so small against his armored ones.  The woman’s angular facial features reminded me, with eerie similitude, of my grandmother’s.  Forward, side-close…back, side-close…forward, side-close…back, side-close.  They swayed in tandem, a single well-practiced unit. I felt she might surely melt into the floor except for him: a supportive, shining white knight.

Everyone looked so old, and yet I also belonged.  My new membership card said so. I watched the dancers hold each other close, lost in their dreamy waltz, and wondered if we might join them someday.