Barn Party

So, after I moved away from Steamboat Springs, I didn't expect to attend any more barn parties. Don't get me wrong - for my 20-year-old-life-guarding-self, a party in a big barn with some insect-ridden sofas and random dogs running around was a great time - even better that I had a former marine watching my back and bringing me home safely to my grandparents at night. It was just young and filthy and fun - like cow tipping (editors note: I do not endorse tipping cows). So, I really never saw myself at another barn party past the age of 23.....

When I drove up to Steamboat today, I was given a margarita and then ushered directly from my grandparents home to a barn. For a party. A 70th birthday party / 48th wedding anniversary party to be precise. A barn party. The Yampa Valley Boys showed up to play and we ate some awesome western BBQ and although I was about 49 years under the average age of EVERYONE else there, I still managed to find my way to the dance floor where I two-stepped like a pro.

I spoke with heroes from WWII. I have such an appreciation for that generation (and not just because they are shameless flirts either!) But it is nice to hear how stunning I am, what a great dancer I am and how they wished they were just 50 years younger! Oh - had I been born 50 years earlier!

I was told that I was bound for success in life because I am "beautiful, with a great personality and a wonderful dance partner." Do beauty, personality and dancing hold the keys to success in life? It is quite romantic to think that they do.

Maybe in the days of Fred Astaire, Gregory Peck, Clark Gable, and Cary Grant. Maybe if Humphrey Bogart was your leading man. Maybe back then; dancing was key to success. You were measured by your Foxtrot or your Tango or Waltz or Charleston. You had to Swing and Cha Cha - and you could never miss a beat.

Right now, I'm dancing just as fast as I can. I'm dancing with a flute of fine champagne in my hand and I don't want to spill a drop. I'm dancing around the rim of a mint julep - which always looks and sounds better than it tastes - and I'm trying not to fall in. I'm on the top of the world, dancing to keep pace and the song is stuck on repeat. I'm dancing and loving it - and getting so tired - but there is no stopping or resting.

Me dancing - except with a Jack and Ginger in my hand rather than the classy champagne

And I hope my dancing, along with my looks, and charm bring me success.... but just in case they don't - my contingency plan is to get a student visa to Ireland, study literature at Trinity College and learn how to birth baby lambs in County Kerry.

In the meantime, I'll dance - then be the designated driver that gets my grandparents home safe and sound after a roaring barn party.